


Refractions

by TaergaLive



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-10-17 20:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 81,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10602078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaergaLive/pseuds/TaergaLive
Summary: "Sometime in the third era, towards the end of it, I’m sure, there lived a young girl named Imogen Fidele. This story is about her. About this young girl, always clad in mourning dress, and of a wizard who was a bit unorthodox. This is their story; the tale of a brilliant researcher and of a monster."After a few unfortunate events during Imogen's life, she goes off to seek a magical artifact that might not even exist. Along the way, she meets quite a cast of characters, but one seems to show up more often than others.A very long tale that has been taking me years to write.





	1. Part One: Chronicles of Cyrodiil  Chapter One: Frame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part One: Chronicles of Cyrodiil   
> In which a young Imperial runs away from home and tries to find her place in the world.

Through the cracked windows, Sybil could hear the wind howl. She was happy to be indoors and glad she postponed her voyage across the sea, though she had eagerly wanted to leave as soon as possible. Caution drew her to the small corner club she sat in, a cup of broth steaming in front of her. Despite the brutal weather, the pub’s owner had left the windows ajar. Winter was always filled with illness, and one way to prevent it was to ventilate the rooms. Sybil admired the owner’s cunning. 

When Sybil first entered the establishment, the owner made no attempt to hide his distrust of her. Sybil knew well where she was, the Grey Quarters, the slums of Windhelm, and the only section of the city the Dunmer were allowed to live. She knew the mistreatment the Dunmer here received made many of them wary of all humans, Nords or not. Sybil made no protests when the owner sneered at her, and she didn’t mind that he had her sit at the table closest to the windows. All she wanted was her soup and a place to spend the night. 

“There’s an inn in the middle of the city, you know,” an Altmer woman said, hovering over Sybil’s shoulder. Before her comment, the pub had been relatively quiet. 

Sybil turned slightly to face her, letting her hands linger over her soup to keep them warm. “I know, but thank you for informing me,” she replied evenly. 

The owner snorted. “Then why do you insist on staying here?”

“If you want me to leave,” Sybil said, turning her gaze to him. “Then I will leave. But if you would like my business, I would like to do my business here.”

Throwing a rag over his shoulder, the owner rounded his counter. “I never said I didn’t want your money.”

Sybil brought the bowl to her lips but she didn’t drink from it. The steam felt good on her face. She took the bowl away from her face, but it remained in her hands. 

“If you must know my reasoning,” Sybil started. “It’s because I am planning to set sail tomorrow –that is, if the weather breaks by then- and your establishment is the closest to the port. I would really like to be out on the sea as soon as possible.”

Again, the owner snorted and flicked his wrist at her, turning his attention to another customer. The Altmer woman inched closer to Sybil, leaning over slightly to get a look at Sybil’s face. Sybil glanced up at the woman, bringing the bowl to her lips again and finally taking a sip of the thick soup. 

“I feel like I’ve seen you before,” the Altmer said. 

Sybil smiled as she placed the bowl on the table. “It’s very possible. I have been traveling around Skyrim for a while now. In fact, I’ve been to this city quite a few times the last few months. I’ve just graduated from the Bard’s college, and I’ve been looking for a job.”

“You don’t look like a bard,” one of the other patrons chimed in. 

Again, Sybil smiled. “What does a bard look like?” she asked. 

The patron didn’t respond. He just shrugged and went back to staring at his drink in silence.

Sybil glanced out the window, trying to see through the thick snow. Closing her eyes, she prayed to anyone who would listen to let the storm pass soon. As desperate as she was to depart, she was afraid staying in Skyrim for even one more night would change her mind. After all, she was chasing rainbows at this point –which, in all honesty, wasn’t very different from most of her journeys- but the very thought of her being wrong this time filled her with such dread that she almost changed her mind right there and then. She could always return to her homeland instead. 

Just take the leap

The Altmer sat down in the chair across from Sybil, folding her hands under her chin. “Where are you going?”

For the third time, Sybil smiled, and it was becoming more and more obvious that these smiles were rehearsed responses to questions like this one. The Altmer’s lips twitched, almost as if she was happy she was getting to Sybil so easily. 

Clearing her throat, Sybil replied, “Solstheim.”

The Altmer flinched almost violently. “Slostheim? Why that dirty, decrepit island?”

Sybil shrugged. “My research has led me there.” 

“Research? But you just said you’re a bard!”

“I am!” Sybil replied, laughing. “I’m a jack of all trades but the master of zero, I’m afraid. I dabble in prose as well as academia. Often times, the two intertwine. More often than you’d think, actually.” 

“How so?” The Altmer asked, eyes shining. 

Sybil faltered. “I, uh, well…would you care for a story then?” The Altmer nodded. Sybil cleared her throat. “Well, then, I have the perfect one. It’s…a little old, so forgive me if I don’t remember all the details.”

The Altmer gave no response, only studied Sybil. Glancing around the pub, Sybil realized she had more than an audience of one.

She took a deep breath and began.

`.`

Sometime in the third era, towards the end of it, I’m sure, there lived a young girl named Imogen Fidele. This story is about her. About this young girl, always clad in mourning dress, and of a wizard who was a bit unorthodox. This is their story; the tale of a brilliant researcher and of a monster. 

 

While noble in neither blood nor honor, Leonde Fidele held onto the highest rank someone of his birth could obtain simply because he had control of a large ring of stores throughout Cryodiil. His father had been an adventurer, and, on one of his last journeys, found his fortune which, in turn, he had given to his son. Leonde had used this good fortune to invest in many merchant stands and shops. Cryodiil’s economy was in shambles; thus, when Leonde wealth gave way to blooming businesses, he found himself eagerly invited to join the upper crusts of society.

He married Emilia Mero, the daughter of a merchant he had invested in. She was a young girl of sixteen at the time, full of life and secrets. Leonde had found her to be quite scandalous and, thus, exciting. Of course, Emilia knew there was a time and place for such activities. Shortly after marrying, though, Leonde discovered one of her shocking secrets: Emilia was a Daedra worshipper. She acknowledged and respected all of the Princes, though she admitted to him that she favored Sanguine to the others. Leonde was repulsed; Leonde enjoyed being a part of the upper class and being considered a noble, and he was afraid his wife’s heretic lifestyle would threaten it. He was still in love with her though and decided to stay with her. He made her promise that she would keep her worship a secret and to be careful.

A year into their marriage, they had their daughter, Imogen. With a child to now support, Leonde moved his family into the Imperial City against Emilia’s wishes. She hated the city and its confinement, but she respected her husband’s wishes. As Emilia raised their daughter, Leonde raised his ambitions. He became engrossed in his business and in court life. This isn’t to say he neglected his daughter; he provided her with the best education he could buy.

Imogen mostly learned from observation. She was never one to dive into something; instead, she would watch others. She learned how to complete a transaction from watching her father. She learned to read by memorizing the books her mother would read her and then recognizing the words in other places. Imogen was fascinated by the world and the people who inhabited it. In fact, she was more interested in them than in herself. If asked about herself, she really didn’t know how to answer. Ask her how she was feeling and she would just shrug. Ask her what she liked and she would just tell you something interesting she saw that day. It was as if she didn’t realize she existed. Emilia didn’t like this; she tried to instill in her daughter a sense of identity. However, this became contradictory since her father began to teach her in the ways of court life. As a future lady, she had to learn to become like every other lady of the court. He never said so, but he hoped she would turn out better than her mother. Emilia, whose outlook on life he once found refreshing, was becoming a thorn in his side. She was too honest, never afraid to tell someone what she thought of them or what was on her mind. At first, he just found it embarrassing. But embarrassment quickly turned to annoyance.

As Imogen grew, she began to rebel, but in her own way. She was not loud about it; indeed, she really didn’t want her father to know she did not like court life. Her rebellion was for herself. Imogen tried to find an identity for herself, and she knew it wasn’t in the court life. Again, she turned to her power of observation and, of course, her books. She learned to lockpick from the thieves. She learned tact from the priests and priestesses. She learned wordplay from the Fools. Every day was a new one for Imogen; she began to play a game where she would pretend to be someone new each day. A princess in disguise; an enemy spy; a powerful wizard. She never told anyone about these games. Going about her day as normal, she would narrate the story in her head.

It was only a matter of time until one of these games got her in trouble. One day, she was pretending to be a thief, and she took her game too far. Terrified of what her father would say or do, she paid her fine (it was only 10 gold) and prayed the guard wouldn’t tell her father. Fear kept her from returning home, and that’s why, at the age of twelve, Imogen ran away from home.

`.`

Being away from the city was frightening, but Imogen had to admit that she enjoyed the sense of freedom she had. Her mother had often taken her through the Great Forest, but Imogen had never traversed them alone. She took in a deep breath as she smile at the beautiful colors all around her. 

But that freedom gave way very quickly as she realized she had no idea what to do with herself. After all, she spent her life doing what others asked of her or in her own imagination.

Yes, her imagination. What could she see herself doing? Imogen sat down on a rock and thought about it. 

“A thief is out of the question,” she spoke aloud though no one was there to answer. “For that’s what got me in this mess in the first place. And I suppose I can’t just become a princess for real. Well, that just leaves powerful wizard. Can I become a powerful wizard?” she paused, tapping her finger to her chin like she had seen actors do in plays to indicate someone is thinking. “Hm…it does seem more doable than the other two options…”

Imogen hopped off the rock, a broad smile gracing her face. “That settles it then! I’m off to become a powerful wizard!” 

As if she had just discovered all the secrets of life, she dashed through the woods as quickly as she could, despite having no idea where exactly she was going. As she ran, she gave her journey some thought. She only knew of two places to learn magic. One was, of course, the Arcane University, but Imogen had no intention of returning to the city after running away from it a day ago. The other place was in Cheydinhal, her mother’s birthplace. Emilia had brought her there a few times, and Imogen recalled seeing a place where mages gathered and studied (the child was unaware that there was a place like that in literally every city in the providence.) 

Imogen had her destination; it was just a matter of getting there. 

`.`

Sybil paused to take a sip of her soup, now cold. Still, it felt good going down her throat. 

The pub wasn’t as full as it was when she started the story. Just a few regulars sitting at tables and the bar, no longer ordering meals but ordering alcohol to warm themselves. 

Sighing, she placed the bowl back down on the table. “I suppose I should edit the story a bit,” she admitted. “Or we might be here all night. Let’s just say that, after much stumbling and a few close calls, Imogen managed to get herself to Cheydinhal and she began her studies. The mages there sent her all over Cyrodiil, though Imogen vowed to never set foot in the Imperial City again. After a few years, Imogen was rather adept at her magic, though she was far from perfect. Imogen was always scolded for letting her emotions control her magic rather than herself.”

“But emotions are a part of magic!” the Altmer interjected. 

Sybil smiled. “Yes, but Imogen let her emotions take the reins too often. It was very difficult for her to cast a simple spell unless she was feeling an extreme emotion. But I digress. Ten years had gone by as she studied. By the time Imogen was 22, she was ranked as an Evoker. She probably would have continued studying with those mages, but…well, things change. Things people never expect to happen to them.” 

Again, Sybil paused to drink her soup. The Altmer twitched slightly. 

“Well, what happened?!” she demanded.

Sybil took her time downing her soup before gently placing the empty bowl on the table. She gave a small, sad smile.

“She turned.”


	2. Eidolon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part One: Chronicles of Cyrodiil  
> In which a young Imperial runs away from home and tries to find her place in the world.

Tying her hair into a loose knot, Imogen knelt by the bed. The scent of blood and sweat filled the room, but Imogen had done her best to ignore it and focus on the people in need.

Strange creatures had started popping up around Kvatch, and everyday ordinary citizens would be found wounded or dead. It was becoming quite the epidemic. Despite a number of people getting hurt by these creatures, no one was quite sure as to what the creatures were. No one was ever able to get a good enough look at them. 

The Temple of Akatosh had been acting as an asylum for those who were wounded. The priests and priestesses all did their best to heal the injured, and a few of the mages from the local guild assisted the best they could. A few of her fellow guild members from Cheydinhal and Imogen had volunteered to assist in any way they could. 

“There, there,” Imogen murmured to the man in front of her. His eyes were squeezed shut as if he were having a nightmare, his jaw set. She wasn’t sure if he was asleep or not. 

Slowly, Imogen guided her hands to the man’s arm, blood soaking through his tattered shirt. Taking a deep breath, Imogen closed her eyes and thought of the creek outside the city. She imagined herself wading in its current, the cool water passing by her ankles, digging her toes into the mud. As these images swam around her eyes, she brought her hand to the man’s arm, a soft, orange glow emanating from her fingertips. 

Imogen’s eyes fluttered opened as she felt the magicka flow out of her. She watched as the wound on the man’s arm slowly mend. She smiled. It always amazed her what magicka could do. 

Just as the wound began to disappear, the man’s eyes snapped open, and Imogen found herself on the floor, a dull pain in her head. She cried out, but it was muffled out by the clamor the other yelling out in panic. Stars danced in her eyes as Imogen felt something pierce her arm. Two of her fellow mages were able to yank the man off of Imogen, but once they got him to his feet, he pulled himself out of their grasps and bolted out of the Temple. 

For a few moments, Imogen lay on the floor, trying to process what had happened. She held onto her arm, fresh blood trickling down her arm. Her colleagues offered to help heal her, but she waved them away. 

“I’ll be fine. Tend to the others,” she muttered, dragging herself off of the floor. She told them she was going to patch herself up and let her body heal itself. 

Not a day went by where she wondered what would have happened had she accepted their offer. 

`.`

After three nights of restless, nightmare-filled sleep, Imogen found it impossible to even attempt to sleep again. She wanted nothing more than to stay awake and stay away from those dark, disturbing images that cast themselves across her mind at night.

Imogen was no stranger to nightmares. Like many people, she had them occasionally. When she was younger, she would run to her mother’s aid whenever the terrors would strike. As she grew up, she found this practice silly. It was only a dream, right? 

Now, as her candle light dimmed and the wax slowly curled and melted, Imogen would give just about anything to throw herself into her mother’s embrace. 

Despite her misgivings, Imogen had crawled into bed. Standing seemed a chore at the moment and sitting was no better. Only with her head resting on a pillow seemed to quell the dizziness that seemed to come over her. She felt the familiar sensation of a fever’s sweat run through her body, but something seemed different about it. Tears pooled in her eyes as she rested on her back, her eyes fixated on the high ceiling above her. Her heart boomed in her ears, and she absentmindedly placed a hand on top of it as if to hold her heart down in place. The beating echoed in her ears, vibrating her eyes, causing the vertigo to twist and twirl the ceiling before her.

“Sh…” Imogen whimpered. “Hush. There’s nothing the matter with you.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” her voice faded and now Imogen could only hear her mother. Her mother she hadn’t seen in years. “Nothing we can’t fix. Just close your eyes. My little Imp. Close them, and this will all be over.”

Imogen’s eyes darted around, trying to find the source of the voice. “But mother, I don’t want to sleep,” she exclaimed. “I’m too afraid!”

“If you sleep, the pain will cease.”

A wave of nausea shook through her, and at that moment, Imogen wanted nothing more than to give in to her mother’s demands. Soon, her mother’s voice was drowned out by a loud, thumping sound. Imogen’s tears spilt over as she clenched her arm. Her accursed arm, still tender from where that man had…

…had…

Silence filled the room. Frantic, Imogen felt herself instinctively gasping for air. She tossed her covers to the side as if they were the culprit. She grasped at the air as if to pull herself up, but there was nothing to latch onto. Water dripped from seemingly every pore of her body as she rolled over and flopped to the floor. The landing surged through her, but she just added the pain to her other ailments as she scrambled to get to her feet. She prayed that someone should hear her, flopping and gasping much like a fish out of water. Finally on her feet, Imogen grasped at her chest, then banged her fists against like she was trying to start her heart. She wondered how long an Imperial could go without air, without a heartbeat. As the sweat continued to pour down her, she felt the juxtaposing sensation of ice, like someone had dunked her into a frigid sea. She hugged herself, hunching over, watching the soft lacework dance in front of her eyes. That lacework looked familiar. Soft, sheer, ephemeral. It would vanish and reappear regularly in front of her eyes. 

“My breath,” she thought. “It’s my breath!”

She forced air out her nose and watched the lacework dance. She was breathing but felt none of the sensations of breathing she was accustomed to. With a gasp, Imogen pressed her fingers to her throat, praying. A few seconds passed with nothing, but eventually, a hollow thud was heard.

“My heart,” she said aloud as if she had always known. Her heartbeat was erratic and soft, but it was still there. Her breathing seemed unnatural and distant, but it was still there. 

A chill ran through her. Though these realizations were comforting, they could not distract her thoroughly from the pain searing through her. Her bones felt ridged as she sunk back to the floor. Blood began to pour from her mouth as some of her teeth became loose and fell from her gums. Repulsed by not only the event but also her instinctual excitement, Imogen spat out the teeth and then cried out in pain. She grinded her jaw and ran her tongue over her gums, freezing when she felt something sharp piercing though at an alarmingly fast rate. More blood followed as she began to claw at her face. Whatever was happening, she wanted it to stop. 

Her tongue went wild as these new intruders grew and grew and grew until Imogen thought they would piece through her lips. With no warning, they ceased, allowing her some time to decipher just what was happening. 

With a sniffle, Imogen picked up her head, eyeing the puddle of blood on the floor around her. She was sore, weak, but somehow still alive. A familiar panic hit her. Hunger. She felt as though she had never eaten before. Swallowing the blood still in her mouth, Imogen clenched her arm again. 

Bolting up, Imogen forced herself to work as fast as she could. She threw her books from the shelves, quickly gather the ones she could never part with in a box. She hastily grabbed at clothing, food, and other such items and frantically packed them in her travel bag. 

`.`

The first night, clinging to the box and regularly readjusting the bag slung over her shoulder, darting away from the main road any time she swore she heard someone coming, stumbling over roots and ruts in the ground, Imogen denied everything. She denied the dull pain in her gut that told her she was hungry, hungrier than she never was before. Ignored the irregular beating of her heart. Ignored how cold she felt despite it being the middle of Sun’s Height. 

That first night felt like the longest night of her life. 

That morning, perched on her box, hunched over, gripping her stomach, Imogen continued to deny everything. Even as the heat of the sun poured over her. She wanted nothing more than to continue onwards, but she had no idea where she was going or why. 

No, she knew why. She knew why she left Kvatch. She just couldn’t say it because that would be admitting it. 

Admitting that she…

Imogen jumped to her feet, groaning as she lifted her box of books up again. She traveled another mile or so before stopping again by a river. A quick glance told her she wasn’t near Kvatch anymore. Tactlessly, she dumped her cargo on the grass and knelt by the water. She frowned. The water was moving too fast for her to be able to see her reflection.

Gradually, Imogen opened her mouth. Her hands shaking, she brought her fingers to her teeth. She flinched and drew her hand back quickly, studying her index finger. A small pinpoint of blood began to form. 

“I’m not,” she started, balling her fingers into a fist, trying to ignore the scent that was beginning to fill her nose. “I’m not…it didn’t happen. I’m still me. This is just…another of those horrid dreams I’ve been having.”

But even as the words left her lips, she knew she was wrong. 

Imogen thrust her hand into the stream, letting the water wash the blood away. She watched it, frowning. “Okay, just say it, Imogen. Just say it. Get it over with. You’re a…I mean, it’s possible that I’m a…oh, I can’t do it!” 

Getting to her feet again, Imogen gathered her belongings and headed off again, still unsure of where she was going. 

`.`

“She became a vampire,” the Altmer woman offered, eyes dancing. 

Sybil nodded, nibbling on the chicken dumpling she had ordered after she had finished her soup. She hadn’t originally planned to spend much money at the pub, but after beginning her tale, she figured she was going to need the supplement. She hadn’t had chicken in a long time, and it was difficult for her to savor the taste and tell the story simultaneously. 

The Altmer waited patiently as Sybil swallowed. At this point in the evening, the pub was rather empty, but those who remained seemed to congregate around Sybil’s table. 

“Yes,” Sybil finally answered. “She had been turned into a vampire. Imogen did her best to reject it. But by the second night, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and gave her an unnerving lucidity of the nighttime terrain, she realized she couldn’t deny it any longer.”

Sybil paused to sip her ale. 

“When the sun rose again, Imogen could feel the heat of the sun pierce her skin. It drained her, and she realized her load was too much. Eventually, she made sacrifices and chose only a few tomes to salvage and place in her bag before abandoning the box with the others. It pained her to leave those books behind, but she had no other choice. Because, by the dawn of that day, Imogen had a destination. She still wasn’t sure where she was going, but she felt something…tugging at her. It pulled her forward, begging her to keep going. Desperate, Imogen followed that sensation. She needed answers. She needed something to live for, and at that moment, figuring out what was beckoning her was just that. Something to live for.”


	3. Penumbra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part One: Chronicles of Cyrodiil   
> In which a young Imperial runs away from home and tries to find her place in the world.

By the time Imogen had reached the settlement, it had been seven days since she had transformed. Each day felt like a struggle. The sun had proven to be too unbearable for her, so, despite the heat, Imogen had switched to a long sleeved tunic and fashioned her hair under a scarf to keep the sun off her face. It bunched loosely around her neck, so when she needed to, she could cover her mouth. She wasn’t used to her teeth yet, and she swore people could see them even when her mouth was closed. 

She stood off to the side of the town’s main plaza, watching the citizens go about their day, unaware of the monster that just entered. Imogen had never been to Anvil before, and she had always wanted to visit it. She just wished it was under different conditions. 

When she was younger, Imogen used to pretend to be all sorts of creatures. She was sure she played as a vampire at least once. It probably seemed fun at the time. Yes, she could see herself darting in and out of the crowded Imperial streets, barring her human teeth, stalking unsuspecting persons. Just harmless fun. 

Taking a deep breath, Imogen melted into the plaza’s crowd. That sensation, that unknown rope tugging her forward drew her to this city. She needed to know why. 

Imogen whizzed around the city, taking sudden turns as she felt the tugging increase. She was close, so close. 

Every street seemed to be packed. Imogen found it difficult to navigate through the town without bumping into someone. Every time her arm touched someone, Imogen would flinch. Every touch felt like fire, and the sun stung her, even through the light green tunic. She pulled the scarf closer to her mouth. 

Eventually, Imogen found herself on a quieter road, away from the shopping district. Judging by the buildings, they looked like people’s homes. Children squealed and darted around the street, enjoying the sunshine that made Imogen cringe. 

She stopped outside a larger (though still modest) building and felt the tugging stronger than before. This had to be the place. Her hand, balled into a fist, hovered before the door. 

Staring, Imogen felt her mind begin to race. What was beyond those doors? And why did it beckon her? Will it save her or will it end her?

There was really only one way to know.

At first, nothing happened after she knocked on the door. Shifting on her heels, Imogen wondered if it were rude to knock again. Before she could decide, the door swung open. A young Breton girl who looked no older than sixteen stood in the doorway, a fan in one hand, waving it languidly at her neck. 

“Beg your pardon, mum,” she started, wiping her brow with her free hand. “We’re a bit busy today. Couldn’t get to the door quick enough. Please, come right in.”

The Breton led Imogen to the foyer. The potent stench of preservatives, herbs, and sickness smacked Imogen in the face. The house was huge, but it was packed tight with medical supplies and cots. 

“Bunch of fishermen came in,” the Breton continued. “Heatstrokes. Hard to work in the summertime. You must be feeling it yourself in those clothes.”

Imogen pulled at her sleeves but said nothing. Her eyes were fixed on the sweat dripping down the girl’s neck. Imogen felt a twinge in her stomach, and for a split second, she imagined what it would be like to rip the girl’s throat asunder. 

The Breton smiled uneasily. “What can we help you with? Are you sick? You’re here to see the physician, yes?” 

Imogen opened her mouth to speak but struggled to find words. Why was she here? How could she explain that she just needed to be there?

“I…” Imogen started. “I just…”

“Oh dear, don’t fret,” the Breton tutted. “We’ll get you checked out. Just have a seat and-”

“I’ve got her, Janine,” an urbane voice called from the adjoining hall. 

A jolt ran through Imogen’s spine as footfalls headed toward the foyer. Heavy, booted footfalls. Despite his upper-class accent, the man was filthy. Grime coated every inch of exposed skin, so much so that Imogen almost mistook him for a Bosmer, but his height gave away his Altmer lineage. 

As if he read her thoughts, the man procured a rag and wiped his hands and face. It made very little difference. 

“Forgive me,” he gestured to himself. “I’ve been working with patients all morning.” He smiled, baring his teeth. 

Although nothing seemed odd about him, although he seemed nothing more than an ordinary Altmer, Imogen somehow knew why she was there. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but the tugging at her core confirmed it.

The man held out his cleanest hand to Imogen. “Please, right this way.”

Imogen studied the hand but made no attempt to take it. She glanced at the Breton girl. Did she know? How could she not? But the Breton wasn’t paying attention to the situation. She had turned down the hall, a pitcher of water now in her hands, gently calling out orders to another nurse. 

Slowly, Imogen turned her attention back to the man. All he did was nod once as he continued to hold out his hand. Shaking, Imogen took hold of it.

His grip was tighter than she expected as he led her downstairs to the cellar. The room was lined with the various herbs and ingredients she had smelt earlier. He sat her down on a chair before returning to the cellar door. Imogen shuddered as she heard it shut and bolt. A chill ran up her back, and she shot up from the chair. 

“I don’t recommend leaving,” the main said, sauntering back into the room. “The sun has left you very weak. I can tell.” 

“Who are you?” Imogen demanded, tensing up. The man took a step towards her; she hunched forward slightly and bared her teeth. The man chuckled, causing Imogen to realize what she was doing. Flustered, she turned away from him. 

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” His question hung in the air. Imogen didn’t move. She listened to each exaggeratedly spaced heartbeat, tightening her jaw. 

Imogen listened as he walked away again. She found herself both relieved and anxious that he was gone. Then, she heard a squishing sound from the other room, and instantly, she was on alert. That scent…she knew it all her life but never realized just how tantalizing it could be! But she didn’t want it to be. She cupped her nose, bending over as if she was going to be sick.

Reentering the room, the man tsked. “Stop fighting it. You’re making it worse,” He roughly yanked her hands away from her face and thrust a cup into them. 

“Drink,” he commanded. 

Imogen meekly growled at him. “I don’t want to,” she whimpered. 

He took hold of her chin and made her look at him. “Drink it,” he compelled. 

A second passed before Imogen felt the urge to bring the cup to her lips. Hazily, she swallowed the cup’s contents, eyes widening with each gulp. It was warm and thick, a combination she wouldn’t have thought delectable. She wanted to be disgusted with herself, yet she couldn’t bring herself to cease until every last drop went down her throat. 

Winded, Imogen pried the cup away. She stared at the man, stuttering. He merely chuckled and took the cup away. 

“Wh-what was that?” Imogen demanded.

The man started walking away, but he glanced over his shoulder. “Do I really need to spell it out to you?”

She scowled. “I know it was b-blood, but…I mean, whose blood…?”

“Blood is blood,” he called out from the other room. “Doesn’t matter whose, or what’s, blood it is. It will suffice.” 

He returned with a new, clean rag and handed it to her. “You’ve it all over your mouth.” 

Imogen snatched the rag and swabbed her face furiously. As she did so, she felt an extraordinary sense of serenity overcome her. She hadn’t experienced such a calming feeling since before she had turned. And she wasn’t sure where it came from. Just seconds earlier, she had wanted to lash out at the Altmer. 

As if on cue, the Altmer took the rag from Imogen’s hand and said, “You’re feeling somewhat normal again. When was the last time you ate?”

“Ate? As in…?” Imogen was confused. While she hated to admit it, she was a Vampire now, and didn’t he just “feed” her?

“As in food,” he replied.

“Food? But I thought-”

“Forget any assumptions you have about Vampirism. They are probably wrong,” he said, leading her to a cabinet. “I think I still have some cheese down here. It should still be good.

“Blood is nourishment for the mind, for your mentality. Never forget to feed on blood,” he explained as he handed her the cheese. Imogen hesitated before taking it, but once she had it in her hands, she tore a chunk off with her teeth and savored its sharpness.

“Blood is for the Vampire in you; food is for the human in you. Do well to remember that.”

“What do you mean?” Imogen asked, not bothering to swallow before speaking. 

“It means,” he said, undoing Imogen’s scarf. “That you must never forget that, despite everything, you are still human. Do not let your Vampirism take hold of you.”

Imogen watched as he folded her scarf. “Is that why you beckoned me here?”

He snorted. “I didn’t beckon you here. You found me. Like any social creature, you sought out one of your kind. The fact that you found me is a nice ego boost; it means I’m the most powerful Vampire in this area. Lucky you latched onto me rather than a feral.”

Imogen swallowed another chunk of cheese. “Vampires are social creatures?”

“No, people are. Aren’t you paying attention?”

“I’m afraid you’re confusing me,” she admitted. 

He sighed. “I suppose it’s to be expected. How long have you been turned?”

Imogen chewed on a piece of cheese as she thought. “A little over a week I believe.”

“And I’m supposing that was your first bit of blood, yes? You really shouldn’t go that long without feeding, not at this stage at least. When you get older, you can go longer without feeding, but now, while you’re still young and weak, it is important to keep up with it. At least every three days or so. Maybe even more depending on how often you go out in the sun. Blood keeps you sane. Many, like you, think that drinking blood with turn you into a monster. You’re wrong; avoiding blood will.

“There are two ways of looking at the situation: you have either been cursed or blessed with Vampirism. How you view it will determine what becomes of you. Either you accept it and continue on your path towards being a regular member of society, or reject it and veer off course and wind up nothing more than an animal.”

Letting his words wash over her, Imogen studied the remaining pieces of cheese in her hands. When she had turned eight days ago, she could only think of one solution. Despite her desperation to find whatever was tugging her forward, Imogen knew in the back of her mind that she had to end this. She didn’t want to be a monster. She didn’t want to harm anymore. The thought of drinking another’s blood, even for her own survival, was enough to consider ending her life. The only reason she stayed on the mortal plan was because the need to follow that tugging was so great. She couldn’t think of anything else but it.

And now what? She found it. She found it and was greatly confounded by it. Somehow, she knew he was like her, that he was a Vampire. Yet as she studied him, she couldn’t see it. He looked normal. 

“Who are you? What are you?” she asked.

He walked over to another cabinet, rummaging through it. “Quaril Salingan,” he replied. “And I’m a Vampire, just like you.”

Shutting the drawer, he handed her a comb. “Your hair is a mess; it’s as if you want people to think you’re savage. If you’re going to live with this charade, you have to keep up appearances.”

As she took the comb, Imogen squinted at him. “But if you’re a Vampire, why-”

“-Don’t I look like one?” he guessed. “Years of study. It’s an illusion. It has taken decades for me to master, so don’t expect to be able to do it anytime soon. It’s part of the reason feeding is so important. If I don’t keep up my feeding, I wouldn’t have the strength to keep this glamour up.” 

A sense of normalcy crashed into Imogen as she started fighting with the tangles in her brown hair. Based on the number of knots she struggled with, Imogen realized just how terribly she had been taking care of herself. 

“So what now?” Imogen asked, wincing as she tore apart a rather tenacious knot. 

Quaril frowned. “Have you ever studied Alchemy?”

“No,” Imogen replied. 

He smiled. “Perfect.”


	4. Thaumaturgy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part One: Chronicles of Cyrodiil   
> In which a young Imperial runs away from home and tries to find her place in the world.

Quaril had taken on an apprentice before, but it was many years ago, back when he was just a Mer, and back when he lived on Summerset Isle. When Janine, his Breton nurse, had asked about Imogen, Quaril explained that he had actually been waiting for the girl to arrive. He crafted a tale of how Imogen’s parents paid him to apprentice her. Janine had looked Imogen up and down, not really believing the Imperial came from money, but she shrugged and didn’t ask more about the matter. Her job was to help heal the sick, not ask questions. 

Despite her misgivings about being a creature of the night, Imogen was rather excited to be Quaril’s apprentice, even if it was just a pretense so that she could learn to control her Vampirism. She had spent the last ten years of her life studying, and she couldn’t possibly imagine life without pursuing knowledge. While studying with the Mage’s Guild, Imogen had focused her attention on the schools of Restoration and Mysticism. They had interested her the most. Though she studied them and had a repertoire of spells for each school, she actually didn’t execute much magic herself. For Imogen, while being able to cast a spell was exciting, she enjoyed the history and story behind Magicka in general. That was what she pursued most. And while many mages were gifted alchemists, Imogen hadn’t really given the craft any thought. 

Ironically, Quaril’s first lesson had nothing to do with Alchemy. 

“You need to learn how to hide your teeth,” he instructed while eating breakfast the next day. It was early, before Janine or the other nurses were in the house. 

Imogen scrunched her face as she tried to chew a piece of bread. Speaking of teeth, Imogen was finding it difficult to eat the way she normally did. Her larger, sharper teeth kept getting in the way. It wouldn’t have been a problem had she been trying to eat meat, but something as soft as bread was, so to speak, hard to swallow. Imogen now understood why animals like wolves only ate meat. 

“How do you do it?” Imogen asked.

Quaril swirled the contents of his cup. The liquid’s scent was one Imogen could never erase from her mind, and as he swirled it, Imogen couldn’t help but wish she hadn’t downed hers the second Quaril gave it to her. “I’m an expert at Illusion magic. I glamour myself to make me appear more like an Altmer should. It took decades to perfect, so don’t get ahead of yourself.

“For now, you just need to practice your smile and how you talk. Get used to how long your incisors are, and figure out how much you can open your mouth before you see the tips of them. As a lady, you can even get away with covering your mouth when you laugh or having a fan in front of your mouth while speaking. People will just think you coy.” 

The first month of Imogen’s apprenticeship was full of basic ingredient identification, hiding teeth, mixing two ingredients, dealing with the sun, and how to bleed a Skeever. 

Much to Imogen’s relief, the blood Quaril had been feeding her came from Skeevers. A few years back, he had made a deal with the sailors in Anvil. They catch the Skeevers stowing away in thief ships and Quaril bought the pests from them. Quaril had explained that the vermin made excellent test subjects for new medicines, so no one though the practice odd. While he did use the Skeevers as test subjects, he mostly used them to maintain a steady supply of blood without having to hunt for food all the time. 

“Skeevers breed rather quickly, so I don’t have to worry about killing them,” he explained to Imogen.

At first, the Imperial thought the practice barbaric and revolting. She couldn’t believe she had drunk Skeever blood! But she couldn’t argue with the logic that it was better to drink a Skeever’s blood than the blood of a person. 

`.`  
“That first month of Vampirism was very challenging for Imogen,” Sybil stated, stirring a steaming cup of tea. Her audience was small yet very attentive. “She couldn’t imagine trying to figure everything out on her own. She was very lucky to have Quaril around to guide her.”

“How do you know all this?” the Altmer asked, counting her money. She had purchased Sybil’s tea, wanting to guarantee the Imperial wouldn’t leave until the story was complete. 

Sybil smiled and swept a hand through her cornflower hair. “Family story. Most wouldn’t want to share that a family member was a Vampire, but we’re rather proud of Imogen, in a sense.” 

“She was your mother?” the Altmer guessed. 

“No, my great grandmother,” Sybil replied, then added a quick wink. “Humans don’t live that long.” 

“That’s disgusting,” the owner bellowed, cleaning the plates of Sybil’s finished meals. By this point in the night, he would be closing up, switching over from pub to inn, but because of Sybil’s story-telling, people had become more awake. They were still willing to spend money on food and drink, so he was still willing to provide it. 

He spit off to the side. “Why would you be proud of having a monster for a relative?”

Sybil sighed, taking a sip of her tea. By the time she had finished sugaring it up (from her own supply of sugar she carried around with her), it was sweeter than any pastry she had ever eaten. It was the only way she could drink her tea.

“Some things are hard to explain,” she answered. “I suppose ‘proud’ isn’t the right word. It’s most like…we don’t want to forget her story. It’s too important to us.” 

`.`

 

Quaril ran a hand through his graying blond hair as he lounged in his chair. It was evening on a chilly but fair Frostfall night. The firewood cracked as the embers danced around in the fire place, the scent of burning cedar flavoring the air. Quaril enjoyed nights like that, and he was especially partial to the autumn months. The cool air killed off most disease-ridden vermin and insects, and people weren’t dropping like flies in the scorching heat. The chill led to the occasional fever, but there were no major problems in the world of diseases. It wouldn’t be until the winter that he would be plagued with bundles of people suffering from the flu or pneumonia. No, Frostfall days led to peaceful nights. 

“I’ll be taking my leave for the evening, sir,” Janine smiled, wrapping herself up in her cloak. Behind her, lurking in the doorway, Imogen crossed her arms. She was still in her short-sleeved tunic. While it was nippy outside, the fireplace and even the candles kept the house warm, and Imogen hadn’t found too many excuses to venture outside as of late. 

“Be careful, Janine. I hear stories of strange creatures popping up now and again,” Quaril warned warmly. 

Janine nodded. “I will. Good night sir,” she said, bowing slightly. She turned to Imogen who turned away her head slightly. “Good night, Miss Imogen.”

“Good night, Janine,” Imogen muttered. 

Studying her, Janine looked as if she were going to say something. While their relationship wasn’t strained or estranged, Janine and Imogen didn’t really speak much to one another. They would talk in passing or when helping one another with a patient or task, but the two didn’t find much else to consult each other with. Imogen had spent the first few months isolating herself from anyone who wasn’t Quaril, something he advised against but understood. By the time Imogen was comfortable opening her mouth and even smiling without fearing her fangs would show, it felt too late to interact with Janine. 

Without saying another word, Janine left for the evening, leaving Imogen skulking in the doorway of Quaril’s study. Despite the fact that she knew she was allowed to enter, Imogen remained only halfway in the room, gazing into the fireplace. 

“Is there something you need?” Quaril asked without taking his eyes away from his book. 

Imogen played with the end of her ponytail, staring at the split ends but not really seeing them. When she didn’t answer, Quaril stopped reading but continued to appear to do so. He was used to this sullen behavior of hers. She would act much like a child, unsure of how to express herself. In many ways, she was a child. She may be an adult in the world of Humans, but she was a child in the eyes of Quaril. His people naturally lived for hundreds of years. And, even still, Imogen was a child in the world of Vampirism. Quaril hung onto her silence. 

“It was my birthday yesterday,” Imogen finally whispered. 

There was a beat before Quaril responded. “Happy birthday.” 

She shook her head, a small breath of air escaping from her nose as she silently chuckled to herself. Finally, she allowed herself to enter the room as she sat herself down on the ottoman, eyes still locked on the fire. Quaril, out of courtesy, continued to “read” his book. 

Peering over the pages, he watched as she wrung her hair as if it were wet, waiting for him to say something. He took the bait. “How old are you now?”

She paused. “Twenty-three now.”

Quaril shook his head, closing his book. “No, you must remember it like this: you are twenty-two plus one year,” he explained, looking at her. Imogen dragged her eyes to his face. “Do you understand why?”

Frowning, she thought about it. Then she gave a small smile. “Because I suppose it would be odd if I told someone I was fifty years old when I appear to only be twenty-two.”

He nodded. “Precisely. It is very important you remember it that way. Not only for masquerading but for yourself. Remember to always separate yourself from your Vampirism.” 

Like a schoolchild, Imogen nodded. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but stopped mid-thought. Despite not even beginning the sentence, Quaril chuckled. 

“To answer your question,” he said, “I am 227 plus 143 years.” 

“You’ve been a Vampire for 143 years?” Imogen asked, eyes widening. 

Again, Quaril chuckled. “I suppose that sounds like a long time for you, but do keep in mind that I said I am 227. I’ve been Mer much longer than I have Vampire. 

“It’s funny,” he continued, rising from his chair. He walked over to his desk and placed the book down. “If I tell a Human that I’m 370 years old, well, they think nothing of it. That seems about right to them. But if I were to say that to a fellow Altmer, they would know right away that I was lying. Same goes for you. If you were to have told me you were 35, I probably would have believed you. The disparity between how Man ages and how Mer ages baffles me.”

Imogen folded her feet underneath her, watching Quaril. “But I think that way of aging me is wrong,” she said slowly. “I haven’t been a Vampire for a year yet.”

“There are flaws to it, yes,” he admitted. “For instance, I supposed I’ve only been a Vampire for 142.3 years or so. But isn’t that close enough to accurate?”

He had a point. Unless Imogen decided to remember always which exact day she had turned, using her birthday as a place marker would have to suffice. At that moment, she could recall the exact day it happened, but she didn’t want to remember. She wanted nothing more than to forget that awful night. Even though months had passed, she still had nightmares about it. She could still feel that terrible pain when she closed her eyes. No, she didn’t want to remember what day she was turned. Her birthday would do. 

`.`

A few days after Imogen’s birthday, Quaril sent her to bed soon after their midday meal. When pressed for an answer, Quaril waved her off, busy making medicine for a patient. All he would say to her was that she didn’t look like she was feeling good and that she should get plenty of sleep. The tone he took was forceful, letting her know she had no option in this. 

Retreating to her room, Imogen had found it hard to sleep. Despite being Creatures of the Night, Quaril and she both lived their lives with daytime schedules. They had to in order to keep appearances up. But Quaril had made it sound as if it were important for Imogen to sleep at that moment. She tried earnestly to sleep, but her body was too confused. Finally, in a desperate attempt to sleep, Imogen threw open her curtains. Though the air was cool, the bit of sun that poked through the clouds was enough to aggravate Imogen. She sat by the window, soaking in the sun’s rays. It took longer than it would if it were during the summer season, but eventually, the sun began to wear her out. Crawling back into bed, Imogen finally began to drift off to sleep.

Hours later, long after Quaril’s extra help had left for the evening, he woke her up. Groggily, she glanced out the window. Judging by the bit of sky she could see, it was very late into the night. Probably closer to morning than night. Quaril would say nothing except that she had to get dressed right away and that she should dress warmly. When he left the room, Imogen blearily obeyed, throwing on a warmer tunic than she had been wearing. 

Quaril led her outside, which Imogen expected since he had told her to dress warmly. But she wasn’t expecting him to take her outside of the city as well. As it was getting later in the month, the air was on the edge of frigid. Imogen could feel that it would be a cold winter come Evening Star. She hugged herself tightly as Quaril silently led her to the woods near the city. 

Just when Imogen was about to protest about how much further they were to go, Quaril halted in a dense part of the forest. Imogen stopped a few feet away from him, but he silently beckoned her closer. Sidling next to him, Imogen pressed her hands against the tree they were standing next to, gazing into the woods around her. 

“Can you see anything?” Quaril whispered. 

Imogen started to shake her head but paused as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. It was a much quicker process now. Shadows turned into trees. 

“I just see more trees,” Imogen admitted. 

“There is going to be a day I won’t be able to provide for you,” Quaril said. “So I must teach you to provide for yourself.”

Imogen’s heart leapt as she felt him place something cold in her hands. A cursory glance taught her it was a dagger. 

“D-do I have to kill something in order to feed from it?” she asked, shaking slightly. 

Quaril shook his head. “No, but it helps to wound it. Keeps it from running away before you are finished.”

Imogen furrowed her brows and inclined her head to look up at him. “I’ve only ever drunk blood from a cup. I’ve never eaten directly from the source. If I do, will that person or creature turn?”

“No,” he replied, gently grabbing her arm and guiding her to another tree, staring intently at something up ahead. “No, they wouldn’t turn just from you feeding on them. It’s difficult to explain. At the moment, you’re too young to turn anyone. I’ll explain it later. Right now, I need you to concentrate. See that small clearing up ahead?”

Imogen squinted. The clearing he was speaking of was a good 20 yards ahead of them. She wondered just how good his vision has gotten over the years, or was it just something Mer could do naturally that Men could not? 

“I sort of see it,” Imogen confessed. 

“There is a small family of deer over there. You are going to feed from the fawn.”

“Why the fawn?” Imogen shuddered. It was bad enough she was going to feed from a live animal, that she was going to sink her teeth into something like she was an animal herself. Did she really have to do it to the baby?

“Because there is a good chance you are going to accidently kill your prey, and would you really rather kill the mother and leave the child defenseless?”

Imogen was about to argue that either way the fawn would suffer, but she also realized it would probably be easier for her to catch the fawn than the mother. She nodded in agreement. 

“Good,” Quaril said. “Now, on your haunches. You’re going to have to sneak up on them.”

He crouched down with her, but something about his words made Imogen hesitate. “Wait, you’re not going to do this with me, are you?”

“There is no better way to learn than to do. You’ll be fine. The worst that will happen is that they’ll get away. Just be as quiet as you can, and when you feel you are close enough, lunge at it. And remember, as much as you don’t want to, trust your instincts. Your Vampiric mentality will guide you if you let it.”

Gulping, Imogen pressed herself against the tree as if it was preventing her from moving forward. As she knelt there, she swore Quaril would eventually scold her or press her to move, but he didn’t say a word. Minutes passed before Imogen made a move from that spot. She took a step away from the tree, holding her breath. Her ears strained as they desperately tried to listen to the deer she still couldn’t see. She heard nothing, which was a surprisingly comforting sound. She figured if she had spooked them, she’d hear them running. Or Quaril would have mentioned it. Again, she took a step, cringing at the dull pain she started to feel creep up her back. She wasn’t used to sneaking around like this. She wanted nothing more than to straighten her back, but she was afraid the movement would scare away her prey.

Her prey. Imogen shuddered as she realized that she admitted that she was stalking prey like some sort of beast. She took a few more steps before looking back at Quaril. He just waved her forward, saying nothing. Twisting back to look at the clearing ahead of her, Imogen slowly undid her hair from the ponytail it was in. As annoying as it was to have her hair kink around her neck, the warmth it provided was worth it. 

Imogen had no idea how long it took for her to reach the edge of the clearing, but she was surprised it was still even dark outside. She thought dawn would have broken by then! The deer were as clear as day to her now, and her stomach twisted. She realized that Quaril hadn’t fed her blood in a few days and that he must have done so on purpose. Now, with the thought of food, of nourishment, of that thick, warm, alluring libation, Imogen gripped the hilt of the dagger tightly. Her breath was shallow, and her erratic heart beat loudly in her ears. How could the deer not hear her? How didn’t it know she was there? The very thought of it getting away maddened her, twisting her vision. For a split second, Imogen was back, back to that awful night, staring at the ceiling, praying for death. Yes, Imogen was praying for death. She prayed for death but not of her own. Barring her teeth, she wanted nothing more than to hear the squeal of that fawn’s desperate struggle. She wanted to chomp down on its neck; she wanted to feel the very instant its heart stopped. Oh, Divines! She swore she could hear its blood coursing through its veins. Such a tantalizing sound. Like a river delta flowing into the ocean. 

A cold breeze rolled by, and the sound of dying leaves rustling in the wind surrounded her. She thought of the days when her mother would bring her to the Great Forest. She remembered collecting leaves and arranging them like a bouquet of flowers. The thoughts slapped her across the face. Staring at the fawn, she was horrified. How could she have thought such terrible things? 

Still, her stomach twisted. Imogen studied the fawn, a strange catharsis washing over her. In that moment, she understood why Quaril insisted she separate her Vampirism from her humanity. She couldn’t let her Vampirism take it away from her. 

Tightening her grip on the dagger, Imogen felt herself lunge at it. She heard the scattering of hooves on the forest floor. She heard the squish of flesh. She smelt the scent of blood. She tasted its cool, metallic blend. She felt someone’s hands leading her away before she gorged herself on blood. 

She felt disgusting. 

`.`

“Imogen didn’t like hunting, not one bit. But she understood why it was so important for her to learn,” Sybil sighed, looking out the window. She wondered just what time it was now. She wondered why these people were still hanging onto her every word. Smiling to herself, she understood a little why they stuck around, and she felt a little guilty about it.

Still, glancing out the window, Sybil could see the weather was still terrible. The blizzard seemed to be getting worse. Perhaps her story was doing some good. It was better for everyone to be together, safe and sound from the storm. 

Sybil turned back to her audience. “Imogen stayed with Quaril for a total of four years. By the end of her third year, Imogen felt sick. For a while, she couldn’t place what was wrong, and she didn’t know how to explain it to Quaril. It wasn’t an ailment, not one that she knew of that is. Her sleep was restless. Her appetite would come and go. Everything just seemed…wrong.

“Eventually, it hit her. And it hit her hard. By this point, Imogen had spent fourteen years away from home. Yes, every so often, she would begin to dwell on the fact that she had run away from home and had never bothered to return. She never wrote to her parents, had never let them know she was okay. And, at the same time, she couldn’t help but wonder why they never sought her out. Surely her father had the connections. She had even stayed at her mother’s birthplace for most of that time! 

“After four years of being a Vampire, Imogen decided it was time to go home. Quaril hadn’t protested. Instead, he reminded her to never forget the lessons he taught her, and to never forget she was always welcomed there. 

“She would write to him often, and he would always reply, but Imogen never went back.

“So, at the age of twenty-two plus four years, Imogen ventured forth to return to the Imperial City.”


	5. Cabalistic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part One: Chronicles of Cyrodiil   
> In which a young Imperial runs away from home and tries to find her place in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Part One. I decided to post all of part one together since I'm currently working on Part Three. So I hope you've enjoyed the story thus far and are eager for more!

Time is such a capricious concept. Like Quaril had told her, he could say he was 370 years old and she would have believed him. Four years wasn’t a very long time, but being a Vampire had begun to take over her life. Imogen had adjusted to her Vampiric life: craftily covering her skin so the sun doesn’t faze her, fixing her hair in styles which would keep her neck covered and protected, slipping in and out of stores when the sun was at its zenith, bleeding animals and storing the blood in stain-glass bottles so no one could see the color of the substance inside, observing how long she could go without blood, giving people a friendly smile to alleviate any misgivings they might have about her. Imogen learned a lot in those four years. 

Yes, those four years as a Vampire seemed to last a lifetime, but the fourteen years she was away from home…that didn’t seem nearly as long a time. As she meshed into the throngs of people heading into and out of the city, Imogen realized just how long fourteen years was. 

The city was just as she remembered it yet so different. The towering walls that kept the citizens safe were the off-white they had always been, but they seemed to shine brighter than she recalled, but it could have been because of the light snow dusting from the night before. The Imperial banners gently waved to the citizens, reminding them they were resting in the heart of the Empire. Though the banners bore the traditional insignia, Imogen could tell they had been replaced since she was last in the city. No good would come from having weather-torn banner representing your capital. 

The streets were as busy as always- especially since the New Life Festival was soon- containing an eclectic crowd of people of all races, though clearly Imperials were the majority. The streets were loud like before, but businesses were different. There were many more stores crammed into the already crowded corners of the districts. Curio stands and stalls lined the streets, selling wares from all over Tamriel. The Imperial City was a hodgepodge of what made Tamriel so magical. Mingling with the crowd, Imogen didn’t attempt to mask her astonishment. She walked slowly through the streets, twirling about to look everything, much to the dismay of her fellow pedestrians. Even the clothing the people wore seemed miraculous. Such vibrant, diverse colors of hues she had only seen in nature. Imogen felt out of place in her dull green tunic dress and cheap cloak and with her hair carelessly tossed into a makeshift nodus style. But she didn’t mind. 

She couldn’t believe she had ever left such a place. 

As she walked the streets, her heart squirmed. Faintly, she could see a younger version of herself running across the street. Little Imogen’s giggle filled Imogen’s ears. Little Imogen climbed on a barrel, shading her eyes with her filthy hands. She looked like she was looking for something, but Imogen couldn’t figure out what. Suddenly, Little Imogen leapt from the barrel and darted across the street again, pressing her face against the window of what was once a bakery but was now a bookstore. 

Shaking the image out of her head, Imogen meandered over to the Arboretum. Normally, this part of the city was fairly empty, with only the occasional passerbyer giving it the time of day. But since it was a few weeks before the New Life Festival celebration, so all sorts of people were decorating the park and honoring the Aedra. 

Imogen smiled. Memories of lazy, sunny days flickered before her eyes. She could see Little Imogen again, mouth agape at the statues before her. When she was very young, Imogen would make up stories of those statues, of whom they were and why people would visit them. After she learned that they were the Divines, she would stare in reverence, and she occasionally would climb on top of the base of Their statues and, tilting her head upwards as much as she could, whisper secrets to Them. 

“Get down from there!” Imogen heard a distant, gruff, debonair voice echo in her ears.

Little Imogen turned sharply towards where the voice seemed to be coming from, but Imogen didn’t see anything there. Soft laughter filled her ears.

“But Leonde, isn’t that what they’re there for? Isn’t one supposed to commune with the Divines?”

The wind picked up, blowing the dusting of snow on the ground, taking with it the image of her younger form. Sighing, Imogen had to admit that she was detouring for a reason. The thought of visiting her home after all these years terrified her. Could she even consider it her home anymore? She hadn’t lived there is so long.

Realizing she had wasted enough time, Imogen took charge once again. Gripping onto her shoulder bag, she marched over to the Talos District. At this time of day, the district was fairly quiet, most people either in their homes, at work, or out shopping. Many of the faces she saw were new, but the district itself looked and felt the same. She didn’t pause or stop to look at anything in particular. If she stopped, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to finish the job. 

By this point, Imogen was walking as if she were in a trance. She didn’t have to think where to go; she just went. Like she hadn’t been gone for fourteen years. Like she was twelve years old again and she was heading home after romping around the city, preparing herself for her lessons in being a Lady. Her throat felt swollen as she gripped her bag tighter. What if this was a mistake? What if the reason no one ever went to look for her was because no one wanted her? What if her mother was ecstatic she was gone? After all, Imogen was sure her father didn’t miss her; how far-fetched would it be for her mother to feel the same. Maybe they had another child together. Maybe they replaced Imogen as quickly as she had decided to start her own life. 

Imogen paused outside her old house. Why did she leave? She knew the initial reason was because she was afraid of getting in trouble that fateful day she pretended to be a thief. But why didn’t she ever go back? Why was it so easy for her to start a new life? When she was younger, she hadn’t given her decision much thought. Now that she was older, she couldn’t help but replay her early childhood days in her mind. If she hadn’t left, she would have never learned magic. She would have never found her passion of learning. Then again, she would have never turned into a Vampire. 

It felt odd to knock on her own door, but Imogen figured it was only polite. After all, she had been gone so long, the house probably couldn’t be considered her own any longer. 

As the door swung open, Imogen squinted, bracing for whatever was going to happen. Instantly, her eyes snapped to attention as an old Bosmer woman stood in the doorway. Glancing around, Imogen reassured herself that this was the correct house. 

“Can I help you, dear?” the woman asked. 

Imogen stuttered, trying to peer past the woman. “Uh, I’m sorry to bother you, but…I’m looking for the house of Leonde Fidele and-”

“Oh, come in, come in. Master Fidele isn’t in right now, but please make yourself at home. He should be returning soon.” 

The Bosmer ushered her in. Imogen tried to protest, but her words were quelled by the sight of her old home. Strolling through her old city, Imogen had expected her house to look as drastically different as the city did. But that house seemed to be untouched by time. Everything was where she had left it, but time couldn’t hide the wear and tear furniture gathers. She resisted the urge to dart up the stairs to see if her room was the same as well.

She was seated in the parlor, in the seat her mother often sat in on cold, winter nights while she would tell Imogen stories. Imogen loved hearing those stories. Emilia would tell her of fantastic events, of people’s run-ins with Daedric Princes, interventions of the Divines, magical feats…anything that could satiate Imogen’s imagination. As she sat on the chair, she stared at the faded area carpet next to the fireplace. She could see Little Imogen gazing up at her, stars in her pale blue eyes. 

“What happened next?” Little Imogen squirmed. 

“It’s getting late,” Imogen could hear Emilia say. “We’ll finish the tale in the morning.”

“Aw,” Little Imogen whined. “I promise I’ll go straight to bed after you finish. I promise!” 

Emilia’s laughter swirled in Imogen’s head. “Tomorrow, I promise, my little Imp.” 

The clinking of glass broke Imogen out of her reverie. Carrying a tea tray, the old Bosmer woman smiled. “You look like you’re caught in a memory.”

Biting her lip, Imogen accepted the teacup. She smiled politely. “Thank you, Miss…uh…”

“Eralia. Please, call me Eralia,” the Bosmer said, placing the tray on the end table near the window. She lowered herself down on the window bench, a spot Imogen thought would be rather cold this time of year. Next to the Bosmer, Imogen saw Little Imogen kneeling on the bench, gazing out the window, watching the snow swirl in the wind. 

Eralia chuckled. “There it is again. That far-off look. Have you been here before?”

Imogen wasn’t sure how to respond. Instead, she asked, “How long have you lived here?”

Sipping her tea, Eralia hummed. “About five years now I believe. My husband had died a year before that, and I was in need of a job. Master Leonde offered me a place to stay in exchange for acting as he housemaid. Not exactly the life I’m used to, but at my age, I’m happy to take it. I’m thinking of retiring in a few more years and heading to the forest to wait out my final years.”

As the steam danced upwards, Imogen nodded. She was a little shocked at how open the woman was at telling such personal details. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said politely. 

Eralia smiled and waved her off. “Don’t be sorry. I miss him every day, but I don’t want others to feel sorry for me. Death is just another part of life. I’ll soon be joining him.”

How could someone be that calm about death? Imogen wasn’t quite sure. As she listened to Eralia talk, however, Imogen couldn’t help but envy her. Eralia was so accepting of her own demise, and here was Imogen who would continue living unless she ended her own life or someone else did. Nature would never take her; she would have to force it. 

Eralia sighed and the grin on her face turned to a sad smile. “Death seems to be following me around, it seems. My husband had died, and Master Leonde hired me briefly after his own wife died.”

Her eyes snapping to the woman, Imogen’s chest tightened. Though she was looking at Eralia, Imogen could barely see her.

Oblivious to Imogen, Eralia continued, “Master Leonde is always such a busy man. Can’t bother to take care of himself. Hired me as soon as he could.”

Quickly, Imogen rose from the chair, placing her cup on the table next to her. It split over, but she took no notice of it. Without uttering a word, Imogen glided out of the house, Eralia calling after her. 

Imogen pushed her way through the city streets, unfazed by the city’s magic. In a trance, Imogen followed her feet wherever they decided to take her, and she didn’t care where she ended up.  
`.`

How could someone be so calm about death? How could someone accept such a fact with grace?  
These weren’t hard questions to answer. Anyone who has experienced loss could answer them.  
When you first hear the news, it doesn’t register.  
A person is dead.  
A person is gone.  
You feel an initial sadness, but nothing like loss. Not the first hour. No, it’s not until you’ve had the chance to let the fact sink in does it ensnare you, dragging you down to the brink of despair.  
A person is dead.  
They are gone.  
They are never coming back.  
You will never see them.  
No one will ever see them.  
They are dead.  
And just when you think you’ve descended as low as you can go, your heart becomes heavy and drags you down further.  
Eventually, your body will claw its way back to the surface, but it leaves you behind. You’ll go days, months, years in a haze. Your body will appear fine, smiling and laughing, but you’ll be in that hole, an ugly, sobbing mess. You’re trapped in that hole, and its then that you realize the reason you are stuck is because something is holding you down.  
Them.  
They are holding you down.  
Their smile, their face, their laughter, their voice.  
Every single memory you have of the deceased is in that hole with you, and you are desperately clinging onto them.  
Until you learn to let them go, you cannot escape.  
Let them rest.  
Find them in the world around you; don’t ground yourself with the burden of grief.

`.`  
When Imogen had awoken from her stupor, she was sitting on a bridge just outside the city. Snow was drifting down from the sky, the sun peeking out from behind dark clouds. Assessing her “hunger”, Imogen realized that it was a few days after she had first arrived to the city. She had no idea how long she had been sitting on the bridge. 

Hands shaking, Imogen fumbled around her bag and brought a blue bottle to her lips. She normally didn’t feed in public, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had fed. Swallowing, Imogen looked around, unsure of what to make of the situation. She had returned to the city to reconcile with her family. All she had received for her journey was the burden of knowing that, in some time between when she had left for her journey and now, her mother had passed away. Her mother had died and Imogen wasn’t even aware of it. 

What kind of daughter was she?

Grimacing, Imogen straightened up. Stiff from sitting down for so long, Imogen stretched and thought of what she was to do now. She toyed with the idea of returning to Anvil, returning to Quaril. Quaril, who helped her feel safe and taught her how to survive. But she only toyed with the idea for a few seconds. For some reason, Imogen thought she wasn’t allowed to return. Not that Quaril had ever suggested such a thing, but Imogen couldn’t help but feel she had overstayed her welcome at Quaril’s home. 

Imogen dragged her eyes to the city next to her. She could always return and see her father. That thought vanished as quickly as she thought it. Reflecting on it, not once had she fancied reuniting with her father. Yes, now that she thought about it, the journey seemed to be more about her mother than her father. Sickened by the thought, she wished her father had been the one to die and her mother the one who had hired sweet Eralia. 

Turning her back on the city, Imogen started to walk. She didn’t get far, however, as what rested on the other side of the bridge caused her to pause. She had seen it before, a sense of mystery and intrigue always radiating from it. But back when she was younger, it always seemed so far away, like she wasn’t able to get to it. Yet here it was, just a few minutes away from the city. 

A familiar sense washed over her. She felt a tugging in her stomach, pulling her towards it. 

She took a step forward, announcing her decision, but she paused yet again. Though she was resolved in her decision- there was no doubting that- Imogen had something she had to do first. 

Turning on her heels, Imogen marched back into the city and headed to the first clothing store she could find. After all, it’s only proper for someone who had lost someone to wear black.

`.`  
When buying the dress, Imogen hadn’t wanted to spend an absurd amount of money on it (she didn’t want to spend all of the money Quaril had given her all in one go), but she also wanted the dress to last a while. That gown was probably the highest quality dress she had ever worn, besides the dresses she used to wear when she lived with her parents. She used to get the strangest compliments about it. Women would tell her that the gown was gorgeous and look lovely on her, but then they would see the color of it and remember the reason behind the outfit. When pressed, Imogen would simply tell people her mother died, not getting into the details of it. For a while, it sufficed, but after years would pass and she’d still be wearing it, people started to wondering just how loose Imogen’s head really was. 

After purchasing her new attire, Imogen went on the start the next chapter of her life. 

The iron gates juxtaposed the true meaning of the building. Gates were normally made to keep people out, but this was a place of learning, a place where anyone and everyone were welcomed so long as they were willing to work and longing to learn.

The Arcane University. 

Truly, it was a marvel to behold. Nothing as glorious as the Imperial Palace, but the University had a subtle beauty to it. Imogen liked its prosaic appearance; it helped highlight the purpose of the building. It was never meant to look lovely. It was simply a place people could gather to pursue their dreams. 

Enrolling wasn’t too difficult. Simply put, Imogen had to undergo a simple yet fastidious test to prove she had some understanding of magicka and how to use it. Then, she had to stand in front of a handful of Warlocks and Wizards who taught and studied at the school, and she had to give a brief explanation as to why she wanted to learn there and what she hoped to accomplish from her years there. Her answer was straightforward: she wanted to learn as much as she could about magicka before she died, and she hoped to use that knowledge in any way she could to help others. She knew her answer sounded naïve and whimsical, but it somehow got her accepted. Though it could have been simply because her brevity was a refreshing change from the superfluous nonsense some other applicants were spouting. 

No, enrolling wasn’t difficult. Figuring out her next move was the tricky part. 

For some reason, Imogen felt drawn to the university, but in a different way from how she was drawn to meet Quaril. Finding Quaril was like having a rope tied around her waist and someone pulling it. For the university, it was more like someone left some string on the ground and Imogen followed it to where it went. Unlike when she found Quaril, there were no answers waiting for her, only more questions. 

And, for some reason, Imogen liked it that way. 

Imogen pushed aside any confusion she had about being at the university and dove into her studies. She spent the first two or three years studying magicka under some of Cyrodiil’s top mages. She focused on Illusion first, as she remembered what Quaril had told her. Illusion magic would prove to be very useful to someone with Imogen’s condition. She fine-tuned her Restoration skills and even went further into her studies of Mysticism, which was always her favorite school, though she could never rightly explain why. 

Though she focused heavily on learning spells and trying to learn how to control her magicka, Imogen’s heart still was still set for academia. As fun and exciting as it was to be able to move an object from afar or levitate slightly off the ground (something she wasn’t supposed to learn because it was illegal but her professors had taught her anyway because they thought it ridiculous that it was illegal in the first place), Imogen’s euphoria came from research. She loved exploring the tomes of the library, discovering the history of magicka and magic use. Many spells were so commonplace in those days, but Imogen would read up on how they were discovered, who discovered them, and how they changed Nirn. 

After studying for a few years, Imogen was offered a position in the library as a research assistant. Imogen gladly accepted, making her one of the “youngest” members of the university staff (she had lied when she first enrolled, telling them she was younger than she really was. By the time she became a part of the staff, they thought she was only twenty, but in reality, Imogen was 22 plus 7 or 8 years.) Her job wasn’t glamorous to most, but Imogen loved every second of it. The job was in the name: she was to assist other mages with their research. She would help them scour through tomes to find what it was they were looking for, and she would sometimes even aid them in figuring out what it WAS they were looking for in the first place. Occasionally, her job required her to search for books and scrolls in the cities and towns surrounding the Imperial City. 

Most days, Imogen wore a smile. She wore a smile and a black mourning dress. The combination alone was enough to make people a bit wary of her. 

It isn’t to say that people hated her or feared her or even shunned her, but Imogen had more colleagues than she could count but not a single person she could call a friend. She had Quaril and the letters they would write back and forth to one another, but no one she could be with while at the school. 

Around her fifth year at the university, Imogen was greeted by a new student who was taken aback when she saw Imogen standing there.

“Janine?” Imogen ventured. The Breton had aged a bit but in a good way. When Imogen last saw her, Janine was only twenty. Now she was a full grown woman of twenty-five, and she looked it too. 

“I had always wondered what had become of you, Imogen,” Janine said, smiling a bit. “You had left Master Quaril’s so suddenly; I thought we did something to offend you!”

“By the Nine, no!” Imogen exclaimed, laughing a bit. “I just…needed to move on.” 

Imogen felt her body tense as Janine assessed her. For some reason, the Breton had always made her feel uneasy. Perhaps it was because, when they first met, Imogen was just a fledgling Vampire and was desperately trying to hide it. She spent so much time avoiding Janine, but now here she was again, after all these years. 

And Imogen looked exactly the same. 

But Janine made no comment on it. Instead, she pressed her hand to her heart. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Imogen forced herself to smile, albeit a bit uneasily. She knew if she wanted people to stop saying it, she needed to stop wearing a mourning gown, but she couldn’t bring herself to not wear it. She had never intended to wear it for so long, but in a way, she felt she was still mourning the loss of her mother, and, therefore, could not stop wearing it.

Silence hung around them as they awkwardly glanced around them. Eventually, Imogen said, “So, you left Quaril as well?” 

As soon as the words left her mouth, Imogen realized how harsh they sounded. She didn’t intend it that way, and Janine gave no indication that she took it that way either. “Yes. I wanted to learn how better to heal people. The way Quaril can. I had made up my mind a few months ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave the poor man in the middle of summer. It seemed cruel. So, now that the summer is over, I’m here to learn.”

Again, a silence fell over them, and Imogen realized it was the first time they had ever had such a long conversation. The tolling of the Temple bells in the distance broke the silence, indicating the time of day. Imogen had to get to the library, and she was sure Janine had somewhere she had to be. 

“I need to get going,” Janine said as if she was reading Imogen’s thoughts. The Breton smiled and shifted the books she was carrying under her arms. 

As she watched the girl turn to leave, Imogen said, “It’s nice to see you again, Janine.” 

Janine stopped and looked over her shoulder, studying Imogen who just stood there, an uneasy look fixed on her face. Janine smiled. 

“The same goes for you.”

`.`

For a while, things were cordial between Imogen and Janine. They acted as if things were never awkward between them, as if Imogen hadn’t spent the first couple of years they knew each other trying to hide from Janine. 

They acted like friends who were separated by the course of time, finally reunited with one another. 

Imogen helped Janine in her studies, much like Imogen would help any student at the university. But Janine would offer her companionship. When Imogen was holed up in the library, studying lore, Janine would come up to visit her, bringing Imogen her favorite sweets. The two of them would go on supply runs in the city, and Imogen would show Janine her favorite spots in the city, making sure to stay clear of any place that brought back too many painful memories. Once, they and a few other students went to the Arena to watch the fights, but Imogen didn’t really enjoy it. The carnage was enough to make her gag, but the blood forced her to remember just what she was. And Janine said nothing of it when Imogen had asked if they could leave. She just smiled and guided Imogen out of the crowd. 

Janine would tell stories about her parents to Imogen. She told her of how they emigrated from High Rock at the same time but before they even knew each other. How they met in the census bureau in Cyrodiil.

And, out of respect, Janine never asked Imogen about her family. 

Once, when they were in the city, Imogen saw him across the street. He looked exactly the same, except older of course. She tried not to stare, but it was so hard not to look. She hadn’t seen the man in years, and there he was, just across the way. 

He had looked up at her. Imogen swore time stood still as they stared at one another. She tensed up, waiting for it to dawn on him that it was her. Because how could he not know? She had gotten most of her looks from him. She had his face. His eyes. She looked so much like her father that she might as well have shouted out to him, “It’s me! I’m back!”

But he didn’t say anything. He went back to conversing with a merchant as if the moment hadn’t even happened. Imogen wondered if he ever even knew it was her. 

During the whole incident, Janine didn’t say a word. Confusion was written all over her face, but she didn’t utter a sound. 

Being with Janine, Imogen felt like she finally had a friend. But, deep down inside, Imogen always knew she was mistaken. 

One day, Imogen was working in the library when Janine and a few other students came in. Janine wanted Imogen to join them in some sort of activity, but Imogen claimed she had something she needed to finish up first. Understanding, Janine told the Imperial to take her time and that they would all wait for her. Some of Janine’s acquaintances thought it strange that Janine was always hanging around a member of the faculty- and even stranger still that a member of the faculty was always hanging around a student- but after the first time they met Imogen and saw how “young” she was, it made a little more sense to them. 

While Janine was patient, some of her friends were not. Antsy, they started a discussing what they had been learning in their conjuration class that day. Imogen wasn’t really paying attention to it at first until it took a rather dark turn.

“And it turned out the whole time, the man was a necromancer. Can you believe that?” a young Bosmer boy said. 

A Redguard girl shook her head. “You think you know someone…”

“I can’t believe it used to be legal in the first place!” exclaimed a rather excitable Imperial boy. “It’s such a pervert, disgusting abuse of magicka.”

Imogen shrugged as she closed the hefty book she was reading and grunted as she picked it up. “I don’t know. When you think about it, was it really that terrible of a practice in the first place?”

The Imperial boy shot her a look she pretended to ignore. “Are you saying you think necromancy is okay?”

“What I’m saying,” Imogen interjected, placing the book on the shelf, focusing on the shelf rather than her audience. “Is that there is plenty of magic out there that can be bad or good. For instance, Destruction magic is used to physically harm others, yet we find that perfectly acceptable. With Illusion, you can sever a person from their magicka for a short period of time. Conjuration allows you to summon Daedra to fight for you. But we consider reanimating a corpse to be the worst of them all?” 

Janine shook her head. “Honestly, Imogen, I see the point you’re trying to make, but you’re wrong. Magic is all about intent. You use Destruction magic to protect yourself from an opponent. You cut off another mage from their magic before they can hurt you. You summon Daedra to fight creatures that are too strong for you. But what necromancy does is sick. Bringing back the dead. What an absurd notion. What a disgusting display of disrespect for the dead. It treats people like lesser beings, like zombies and vampires and liches; all those things should be dead and stay dead.”

Imogen was taken aback by the acrimony in Janine’s voice. For a split second, Imogen swore Janine knew. Janine, standing there, shaking her head, hands on her hip, had to know. She must have known what Imogen was. Knew what she was and hated her.

But then, Janine smiled at her and laughed. “You look so shocked. Never seen a Breton fired up, eh? We can be quite argumentative. But you see my point, yes? You understand why it’s such a despicable practice, yes?” 

Imogen stared at Janine’s smile. Somehow, she knew the smile was genuine. Janine didn’t know. Janine wasn’t outing Imogen as a Vampire. It was just a friendly debate. 

“Of course,” Imogen forced herself to say. For there was nothing else she could say. There was nothing else she could ever say. 

A few days later, when Janine asked Imogen if she wanted to join her and the others to a trip in the city, Imogen explained that she had too much research to do. Anytime Janine tried to keep Imogen company, the Imperial would turn her away. Eventually, the Breton stopped asking. She stopped showing up. 

Janine had been her friend, genuinely had been her friend. But she would have never accepted the truth. If she knew what Imogen was, she would have turned on her in a heartbeat. 

It didn’t matter. Imogen still had her books.

`.`

Imogen buried herself in research, buried herself in books and the stories they would tell her. Despite all that had happened to her, she would still smile to anyone who passed her, to anyone who asked her a question or needed her help. But she helped people less and less as she became engrossed in lore and subjectivity. 

Spreading her mind’s wings, Imogen would flitter from bookstore to library to athenaeum to broaden her resources, though she always would bring them back to the university, as she found the place to be her home at the time. For one reason or another, Imogen became infatuated with mythical artifacts and the stories which surrounded them. She would share these stories with colleagues and discuss her finding on them, but most of the other mages at the university laughed her off. They were all busy with their own research, research on ideas that were a little more tangible than relics no one knew were ever even real or not. 

One Rain’s Hand afternoon, Imogen stumbled across a few pages on an artifact she hadn’t heard of before. When she first read over the pages, she didn’t give it much thought. But as she began to close the book, she felt it. That tugging. That little piece of string lying on the ground, beckoning her. Begging her to open the book up again and study the chapter on the artifact until she could recite it by heart. 

Tear’m Ouada.

According to the brief summary the book provided, it was a mirror of sorts, but instead of glass, it held a rippling pool. And some said that the pool led to the Land of Spirits. 

And for some reason, Imogen believed it. With all her heart, she believed in this mirror. And she wanted to find it.

When she mentioned it to one of her colleagues, he laughed at her outright. He told her that the mirror had been disproven long ago, that it was just part of a trick a Daedric Prince had told to an unsuspecting victim (the story so old that no one knew just which Prince it was). 

“And besides,” he continued smugly. “Even if that mirror were real, no one would be foolish enough to mess with it. I think the only people crazy enough to even consider messing with that kind of magicka would be the Telvanni.”

Imogen studied the man, his smug smile faltering the longer she stared at him. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

“For what?”

Imogen smiled. “For telling me where to start.”


	6. Part Two: Outlander in an Outlandish Territory  - Wanderlust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of Part Two: Outlander in an Outlandish Territory  
> In which Imogen decides to travel to Morrowind to seek the help of the Telvanni to research the Tear'm Ouada and gets more than she bargained for.

Early spring seemed like the perfect time for Imogen to leave Cyrodiil. As the buds on the trees began to sprout and life began anew, so too was Imogen starting off fresh.

Back in those days, traveling from province to province wasn’t that difficult, especially if you were leaving Cyrodiil. Entering Tamriel’s capital was a different story. Lots of paperwork had to be filled out if you planned to move to Cyrodiil. But leaving was easy. There were plenty of guides to hire in the Imperial City. It was just a matter of picking the one who suited your needs. 

The hardest part for Imogen was packing. After that fateful conversation with her colleague, after deciding to leave, her mind was dead set on traveling to Morrowind. She knew very little of Morrowind and even less about the Telvanni, but she knew if she wanted to converse with the Telvanni and continue her research on the Tear’m Ouada, she needed to go to Morrowind. But traveling to another province wasn’t like moving to a different city. She would be away from the University for a very long time, away from Cyrodiil for a very long time. If she was making this move, she needed to decide what she could bring with her and what had to stay behind.

The decision was harder than it should have been. 

Sitting among all the books she had collected over her years of study, Imogen desperately wished she was able to bring them all with her. True, many of the books in the university’s library belonged to the college itself, but there were many books she had purchased and found on her own that she added to her own collection. Each one was a treasure to her, but even with her head in the clouds and her heart racing at the thought of this new adventure, she knew she had to be reasonable. After all, it would be difficult to travel laden by books. Besides, the guide she had hired to take her to Morrowind said she could only bring one small box and a bag with her on the journey, for he had other customers to bring as well. 

Being crafty, Imogen was able to fit ten volumes of lore in the box, though they did weigh the box down. The box would rest on the carriage the guide was bringing with them, but once they got through the census bureau, Imogen would be on her own. Still, the thought of leaving any of her precious tomes was enough for her to procrastinate on a solution to carrying the box on her own.

All she brought with her was her box full of books, a few changes of clothes (she wore her mourning gown on the journey, but had other, more appropriate traveling clothes with her, all in dark, mourning colors), a few ribbons for her hair (strangely enough, these ribbons were of all sorts of colors), and an extra pair of boots just in case. All in all, her supplies were quite pragmatic, except for the books.

On the dawn of the 16th of that year’s Rain’s Hand, Imogen met her caravan just outside the city. The group consisted of herself, a family of Dumner (a mother, father, and their two little boys), a Redguard woman, and their guide, an Orsimer named Lurkblak. The rules of the trek were simple: the carriage was for carrying the supplies only, unless someone was sick; they couldn’t carry any food with them, less they wanted to attract the local wildlife (Lurkblak claimed he would be able to supply them with food twice a day, on in the morning and once in the evening); no one could complain about how long they traveled each day; and once they started out, they were not heading back for Cyrodiil until after they entered Morrowind. Imogen had thought this rules fair and agreed to them wholeheartedly as she hoisted her box onto the carriage. 

As they head out, Imogen strode near their Orsimer guide. Living in Cyrodiil, Imogen had seen and met denizens of all races, but she had never seen an Orsimer up close before. Lurkblak’s skin appeared rough, a lush, dark green with brown undertones. As he walked, the mace strapped to his hip glistened in the sunlight. Imogen couldn’t help but gawk at his teeth. They jutted out from his jaw, sharp, thick tusks that curved toward their owner’s cheeks. Gently, Imogen ran her tongue over her incisors, and she wondered if he would fancy her a monster if he could see them. 

Without turning his head, Lurkblak shot her a look, and Imogen cast her eyes to the ground. Grunting, he told the group that it would be another five hours before they would stop to rest. Imogen heard the little Dunmer boys groan, but their parents hushed them. 

No matter how far they traveled that day, any time Imogen glanced behind them, she could still see the Imperial Tower. She thought it would be easy to let it go, but it seemed to hang around her like a noose. As excited as she was for this journey, she was just as scared. Leaving the city was one thing, but to leave Cyrodiil? That was a thought that had never occurred to her, not even when she was the wild dreamer she was as a girl. All of her fantasies were set in Cyrodiil. She couldn’t imagine herself living anywhere else. 

As the caravan set up camp for the night, in a lovely thicket a few hours away from Cheydinhal, the Redguard asked Imogen, “Is this your first time away from home?”

Crouching, Imogen was arranging a rock ring for their fire. The Redguard placed the bundle of wood she had found in the center of the ring. Imogen smiled. “No, not the first time. But it will be the first time I leave the province.”

The Redguard nodded as she started to arrange the wood. “I could tell. You keep looking back as if you were either running from something or trying to decide if you wanted to go back.”

“It’s a bit of both, I’m afraid,” Imogen admitted. As the Redguard finished arranging the pyre, Imogen rolled up her sleeves and held her hands out as if she were warming them up next to a roaring fire. Little by little, a small flame swirled around her palm, and gently, she brought the flame to the wood. After a few seconds, the wood caught, and Imogen dismissed the spell.

The Redguard pursed her lips and nodded. Imogen smiled at her work. Destruction magic wasn’t her forte, but she could handle it at a simple level. 

She turned to the Redguard. “I’m Imogen,” she said. Since they would be traveling together, Imogen felt it only proper to be cordial. 

The Redguard held out a hand. “Morena. I know, I know; it’s an unusual name for a Redguard, but that’s what my mother named me, so I’m sticking with it.” 

Standing up, Imogen took Morena’s hand and shook it. “Believe me, I understand. ‘Imogen’ isn’t an Imperial name at all, but my mother insisted on naming me such. It’s apparently from a story she had read a long time ago as a little girl. Ever since, she had her heart set on naming her daughter by that name.”

Morena chuckled. “That’s cute! I wish my name had a story like that. Apparently, it just means that I have brown hair. Which isn’t all that clever when you think about it.”

Imogen smiled uneasily as Morena sat down by the fire. The Redguard stretched herself out, resting her hands out behind her and looking up at Imogen. “Why are you going to Morrowind?”

Despite the fact that Imogen knew the question was inevitable, she hadn’t really prepared an answer for it. She tapped a finger to her chin, furrowing her brows. 

“Research. I’m researching something and my studies have led me to Morrowind,” Imogen offered. 

Morena’s eyes widen as did her grin. “Really? What are you researching? Are you a mage? Where exactly in Morrowind are you going? Oh, this is just simply too exciting for me to contain!”

Throwing up her hands as if to defend herself from the girl’s questions, Imogen laughed tensely. “Please, please, I’ve only one mouth. I can’t possibly answer all your questions at the same time.”

Sheepishly, Morena barred her teeth. “Sorry. My mother always told me I talked too much. I just get so excited, you know?” 

“I can tell,” Imogen chuckled as she gathered the skirt of her dress so she could sit down next to the Redguard. “Why are you traveling to Morrowind?”

Morena inclined her head towards Imogen and gave her a look that said she knew Imogen was avoiding all her questions. But she didn’t comment on it. “I’ve been commissioned to work in Hawkmoth. I’m a blacksmith.”

“Really?” Imogen asked.

Yawning, Morena laid herself down flat against the ground, her feet resting by the fire. Imogen glanced at the girl’s feet to make sure they were far enough away to be safe. “I know, I know, I look too skinny to be a smith. But I am! And damn proud of it too.”

“As you should be,” Imogen added. “It’s a hard job.”

As the fire cracked, one of the Dunmer boys joined them, his family speaking with Lurkblak. “You’re going to work for those Imperial swines?” he snorted as he sat down opposite of them. Though she knew he was using the term “Imperial” to mean those who work for the government, but Imogen couldn’t help but feel like his comment was aimed towards her.

Sitting up, Morena gave the boy a lopsided grin. “’Fraid so. But they’re really not that bad. They’re just trying to keep everyone safe.”

The boy snorted. “My parents say the Imperials are just there to keep everybody down. They want everyone to follow their laws and their customs and they don’t care who they step on to do it.”

Imogen sat in silence, listening to their debate. Morena was calm as she spoke to the lad, while the boy had a quiet malice in his voice as if he had personally bear witness to the Imperials’ cruelty. Curious as she was, she knew better than to ask. 

As the two continued their debate, Imogen stood up and walked away from the fire, trying to tune the two out. Just one day into the journey and she could tell it was going to be a difficult one. Heading towards the outskirts of the campsite, Imogen peered into her bag. Fearing discovery, Imogen had only packed a single bottle of blood. This wasn’t to say she wouldn’t be able to acquire more, but it made her very nervous. She fed herself just the night before, but Imogen wasn’t sure how long she could go before she would need to feed again. She had tried to press Lurkblak for more details as to how long the journey would take, but the Orsimer had only grunted in response. Imogen didn’t want to try to ask him again, despite desperately wanting a definite answer.

Next to the bottle of blood was her coin purse. This was another carry on she was nervous about. A few days before she left, Imogen received a package, and it came just in the nick of time. To fund her trip, Imogen had to sink almost all of her money into paying Lurkblak for his services. Traveling around Tamriel was easy back then, but no one could dare say it was cheap. The package came with no note, just Septims. Twenty-two hundred Septims! When she pressed the courier as to who had sent it, the young girl only shrugged and said she wasn’t told. 

“I was just told to deliver it to Miss Imogen,” the girl explained before taking off. 

Smiling, Imogen knew it had to have been from Quaril. She wasn’t quite sure how he knew she needed it, but she was thankful. Before setting off for her journey, she sent him a letter, thanking him for the money and telling him where she was planning to go. 

Just as she was shutting her bag, Lurkblak walked up to her. He stopped a few feet away, not really looking at her.

“We’ll be heading out again at first light. I recommend you sleep,” he grumbled before walking away. 

Sighing, Imogen headed back to the heart of the camp, listening to her caravan converse as she crawled under her bedroll and closed her eyes.

`.`  
On they went towards the mountains just east of Cheydinhal. Nowadays, the easiest and only valid way to getting to Morrowind is by boat, but back then, traversing the mountains could be dangerous, but not nearly as deadly as now. Back then, the Red Moutain hadn't erupted, and the skies were clear. As long as you had a guide who know what he was doing and knew the best trails to take, you were golden. 

Lurkblak was a quiet guide, but Imogen found him sweet. Each night when they set up camp, Lurkblak would hunt for food. He was very against bringing food along, and Imogen imagined something terrible must have happened the last time he did.

A month had passed since they started their trek. By this point, they were on the mountain trail. Along the way, Imogen had become quite civil with the rest of the party, though she admitted rather sheepishly to herself that she preferred Morena’s company to the others, as they were both Human. Imogen felt she related more to the woman. 

She had learned a lot about the Redguard. Morena was 35 years old and became a blacksmith when she was 15. She was originally from Cyrodiil actually, but she had visited her parents’ homeland many times. Though not part of the Legion, Morena had done many jobs for them over the years. 

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been called to a Legion fort,” Morena had said. “In fact, the first one I went to was ironically in Hammerfell.”

“Did your people appreciate that? I heard the Redguards aren’t particularly fond of the Imperials being there,” Imogen asked, which prompted her to wonder if anyone appreciated the Imperial government. 

Morena shook her head. “They are not ‘my people.’ They are Redguards, just like me, but that does not automatically link us together. I was born and raised in Cyrodiil. Cyrodiil is my home.”

Imogen frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Smiling, Morena replied, “I know, which is why I forgive you this first time. But I feel that is how we were taught. You are an Imperial; you belong to Imperials. Wood Elves belong to Wood Elves. Argonians to Argonians. We put so much emphasis on Race and not enough on creed.

“But enough political debate,” Morena chuckled and patted Imogen on the back after seeing the Imperial taking her so seriously. “You never told me where in Morrowind you plan to go.”

Imogen paused. “Vvardenfell, I believe. I don’t have a definite destination as if yet.”

“Ah,” Morena clucked. “I hear it is very pretty there?”

“Is it?” Imogen asked expectantly. “I’m afraid I have no idea what to exof Morrowind. I have never been.”

“Of course you haven’t,” the Dunmer gentleman chimed in. “No one’s ever been to Morrowind.”

Imogen turned to look at him, a puzzled look on her face, but she saw the man share a smile with his wife and she assumed the comment to be part of some inside joke. 

“May I ask,” Imogen started, “As to where you are all going?”

“Home,” the Dunmer woman replied. “My sister is with child. I wish to return to my home help her in any way I can.”

Imogen smiled. “That’s very kind of you.”

“A bit of a warning,” the man added. “We’re probably the nicest Dunmer you’ll meet on your journey.”

`.`

“As they traversed the mountains, Imogen had noticed a shift in the vegetation. The change was subtle at first, but as they made their decent, the atmosphere was so drastically different that Imogen swore she was no longer on Nirn. 

“It was on the 18th of Mid Year, 3E 428, that Imogen arrived in Morrowind.”

By this hour, the storm had grown so strong that the remaining patrons had no chose but to stay the night at the inn. And in a strange sense of generosity, the innkeeper didn’t charge them for the stay. As long as they kept buying alcohol and food, he was perfectly fine with them staying.

Sybil was no longer seated by the window. Her captive audience, with nothing better to do, hung on her every word, and if she wanted it to remain that way, she had to sell each word as if it were precious gold. Still, they sat at their tables, but Sybil now stood, addicted to her own tale. Her face was animated; her arms danced along with her story as she flitted from table to table, making sure to make eye contact with everyone at least once.

And she had to be very cautious at this point. She was treading on dangerous ground, for the story was now taking place in the homeland of almost every patron in that bar. But Sybil was used to dictating a story to fit an audience’s needs. She describe the climate and scene with such enthusiasm, she swore she saw a smile here and there. 

“And, for Imogen,” she said, “Morrowind was like a paradise. It was a wondrous world unlike any she could have dreamt to imagine. It took all the strength Imogen had not to sell her soul to some wicked benefactor to allow her to live the rest of her life in such a place. 

“I’m not sure how to describe it. But Imogen was fascinated at every turn. She couldn’t believe how vastly different Morrowind was not to just Cyrodiil but to itself as well. Go off in one direction, and you would find swamps. Turn around, and you’d find yourself in a dark mushroom forest. Oh, the mushrooms were Imogen’s favorite! The first time she saw one of those mushroom trees, Imogen’s entire face lit up, her eyes danced, and she felt the insatiable need to climb one. She didn’t. Not at first anyway. But I digress. 

“Imogen’s first step was to sign in at the Census Bureau. For Imogen, it was comforting to see that, no matter where she went, the Empire would follow her. But, a quick survey of the other people around her convinced her that it wasn’t the case for most others.”

At this, Sybil heard a few snickers. She smiled impishly and flashed her eyebrows in agreement. This was why Sybil loved telling stories orally. Writing was all fine and dandy, but telling a story orally allowed for such instant feedback and interaction that paper just couldn’t contain. 

Sybil pressed onwards. “At first, when Imogen was asked to state her business, she wasn’t sure what to state. Why, she had only come to Morrowind on a whim. She told the soldier that she was there on business, and the soldier asked her what sort of business did she have to attend in such a loathsome, backward country (his words, not mine!). 

“As Imogen glanced around the room, she noted that most of the soldier were Imperial. There were maybe two or three Dunmer guards, and she thought this strange. Still, she pressed onwards. She told the man she was there for research, and the man just snorted and asked for her name. When she stated her full name, the man paused.

“‘Fidele?’ the man echoed. ‘Why, you’re Leonde’s little girl!’ The man had apparently met Imogen once upon a time when she was just a little babe,” Sybil looked around at her audience, acting as if she were in the story. “Glancing around the room, Imogen noted that her father’s name seemed to hold some meaning, as the other Imperial soldier looked at one another with a sense of reverence. Imogen quickly put on a haughty look,” Here, Sybil mimicked the look, which rewarded her with a few laughs, “And told the man that yes, she was the daughter of Leonde Fidele and that she wanted to go to Vvardenfell and if he would be so kind as to help her find transportation there.

“Surprisingly, it worked. The Imperial more soldier ordered a lower ranking man to fetch Imogen a ride to Vvardenfell. As they waited, though, and the soldiers went about their business interrogating the others, a Dunmer soldier came up to her.”

Sybil paused and shrunk back a bit, as if she were Imogen and as if someone had just walked up to her with fire in their eyes. 

“The soldier had the skin and face of a Dunmer, though something seemed off about her. That was when Imogen noticed that the Dunmer’s ears were rounded. Instantly, Imogen knew the girl was a half-elf! Though the girl was a few inches shorter, the soldier towered over Imogen. ‘What business could you possibly have here, Imperial?’ The soldier spat at her. 

“‘Aeryn, lay off her,’ Another soldier called out. Aeryn took a step back, but she never let go of that gaze. Imogen tried her best to maintain an air of coolness, but she was starting to break under that stare. Aeryn kept squinting at her as if trying to uncover something.

“Suddenly, Aeryn’s mouth broke out into an unpleasant, malicious simper. Imogen felt a chill run down her spine as the other soldier told her that her transportation was ready. As she left, Imogen heard Aeryn say,” and here, Sybil put on Aeryn’s smirk and spoke in a menacing, sibilant voice, “‘I’ll be watching you, Imperial.’”


	7. Toadstools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two: Outlander in an Outlandish Territory  
> In which Imogen decides to travel to Morrowind to seek the help of the Telvanni to research the Tear'm Ouada and gets more than she bargained for.

“Inside the dreams of a younger Imogen, the young Imperial had slain dragons and fought with monsters twice her size. But never had the girl once dreamt of actually riding one of these ferocious beasts. Yet, as she traversed through Morrowind, she found herself doing just that.”

Sybil paused, staring up at the ceiling, her eyes dancing as if she was gazing upon the very monster she was speaking of. “The first time Imogen met a Silt Strider, her mouth fell agape and she felt this...this surge of energy swell inside her bosom, just like when she would find a missing piece of the research puzzle she had been searching for. And to hear she was to ride atop such a beast...Imogen could hardly contain her excitement. The soldier who was accompanying her gave her a strange look -it was apparent he didn’t favor the beast- but Imogen didn’t care about his opinion. 

“Yes...traveling via Silt Strider was probably Imogen’s favorite mode of transportation.

“You see,” Sybil said, standing on top of an empty chair, gazing over the heads of her audience. “It was the perfect way for Imogen to study her new surroundings. Like an excited pup going on its first hunt, Imogen would snap her head in any direction it would let her, her eyes savoring every last detail it could see. 

“Their journey to Vvardenfell took quite some time, but Imogen didn’t mind. Eventually, they had to depart from the gentle beast and travel by boat the rest of the way to Imogen’s destination. At this point, Imogen’s Imperial companion had to return to his post, but he gave her detailed instructions as to where to go.

“It took about a week for the boat to wind through the small chunks of islands and rocks. They swiftly docked in Sadrith Mora.”

Again, Sybil grew quiet. Not a sound could be heard in that inn as she gently got off the chair. The Altmer woman studied the blonde. The bard seemed so far away in that moment, swept up by her own story. 

Despite the seconds that passed in silence, no one moved or said a word. Slowly, a small smile drew across Sybil’s lips. She tilted her head slightly as if studying a fantastic work of art hanging in front of her. 

~.~  
When Imogen arrived, the town seemed deserted, the sun settling in the sky overhead, declaring it about midday. Not a soul could be found, save but one besides Imogen herself. A dunmer woman leaned against the doorframe of a building in town. At first, Imogen hadn’t noticed her, mostly because the Imperial was too busy gawking at the giant tower in the middle of the town. It stretched towards the sun, shading a good portion of the city. Studying it further, Imogen discovered it was actually a rather large mushroom! Despite herself, Imogen smiled. That was when she heard the grunt of the Dunmer woman standing not too far from her. 

The woman said nothing but fixed Imogen with a look of confusion and disgust. She bit into an unidentifiable fruit and chewed it rather languidly as Imogen hesitantly nodded a hello to her. Instantly, the woman stopped chewing her food and continued to stare at Imogen. With a roll of her eyes, the Dunmer woman swallowed her food before chucking the rest of it down on the steps she stood on and bolting herself back into the building. 

Imogen couldn’t help but think that an omen of what was in store for her. 

Spending her first day exploring the town, Imogen quickly learned its inhabitants were very secretive and weren’t found of outsiders prying. Imogen tried to act like she wasn’t insulted or disappointed, but the girl could only do so much. The only people willing to even look at her were a few Argonians and Khajiits she had met. She was surprised to see them in the city at first, but their haunted appearances and haggard apparel made it apparent to Imogen that these people were slaves. Imogen frowned at them, but she didn’t know what to say. 

She had stopped at the local inn to inquire about spending the night, but the Imperial was turned away. No amount of bartering was going to gain Imogen a room. Defeated, Imogen watched as the sun began to set and made her way to the outskirts of town. Just outside the city walls, Imogen gathered sticks and branches and made herself a rather shoddy lean-to. It wasn’t glamourous, but it would protect her from most of the elements. 

This little lean-to ended up being quite valuable to Imogen. Because she wasn’t staying directly in the city, nobody could notice her slip out to the nearest farm and feed on the fowl that lived there. Imogen wasn’t even quite sure what type of birds they were, but she found them cute and was a bit sad she had to feed on them, the little, pudgy, brown birds. But she had to survive somehow. 

As she curled up in her lean-to that first night, Imogen tried to think of her next move. Her best bet, she realized, was exploring that giant mushroom tower in the middle of town. Yawing, Imogen resolved to do that once the sun had risen. Her journey had taken longer than she expected, but now she was here, in Morrowind, in Vvardenfell, in the land of the Telvanni. She was one step closer to truly starting this endeavor, and the very thought made her stomach twist and she fought to keep the smile off her face. Despite everything, Imogen was excited for whatever lay ahead of her, even if it meant disappointment. Even if it meant turning around and heading straight back for Cyrodiil. Just for that moment though. For just that moment, Imogen was excited about life.

~.~

Shortly after the sun rose, Imogen hid her belongings as best as she could in her lean-to before returning to Sadrith Mora. Again, the town seemed deserted, but that Dunmer woman was outside again. She was taking blankets off of the stalls in front of her building, exposing the various colorful fruits she had for sale to the public. The Dunmer glanced at Imogen, but quickly turned away. In the distance, Imogen could hear the Argonians and Khajiits start their morning work. 

Taking a deep breath, Imogen headed for the center of the town, toward the giant mushroom tower she longed to explore. Standing at the base, Imogen tilted her head upwards as far back as it could go, making herself dizzy as she studied the tower. She had to climb a few flights of stairs just to get to the door, but the trek was worth it. As she reached the door, Imogen studied the town around her. She could see a few more people outside and felt a little insulted they only seemed to appear when she wasn’t around. Still, she knew she couldn’t let that get to her. After all, she was the one encroaching in their territory. 

First, Imogen had tried knocking on the door, but after minutes passed -and she even tried knocking again- Imogen realized that knocking was not the best strategy in this situation. Instead, she went against her courtly training and let herself in. Once inside, Imogen was a bit disappointed in the lack of decor. The Tower seemed so magnificent from the outside that she had hoped it looked just as wonderful on the inside. But no. The walls were bare and there was no furniture to adorn the room. No furniture save for a chair and a desk that an old Dunmer woman sat at, a book in her hand. To either side of the desk was a door leading further into the tower, but just a glance told Imogen that those other rooms were just as dull as this main room.

The woman made no attempt to notice Imogen standing there. Imogen cleared her throat, but the woman only flipped to the next page of her novel. Tensely, Imogen smiled, shifting on her feet. “I’m sorry to interrupt you,” Imogen started. 

“Then why do you do it?” The woman replied, still reading her book. 

Imogen flinched. She wasn’t expecting the woman to answer her so quickly, and Imogen had expected the woman’s voice to sound as feeble as she looked. Yet the voice was as steady and forceful of a woman half her age. Again, Imogen cleared her throat and pressed forward. “This is a Telvanni tower, isn’t it?”

Sighing, the woman snapped her book shut and gave Imogen a bored look. “Isn’t that something you should have figured out on your own before just barging in like you owned the place?”

Imogen frowned. “I mean no disrespect, but I did knock. No one answered.”

“Because no one wanted you to come in,” The woman retorted. “Honestly, you think you can just waltz in here and do as you please?”

Despite knowing the woman had a point, Imogen huffed. “It would have been nice for someone to do me the courtesy of saying so instead of just ignoring me. Why, what if you were hurt and unable to come to the door? If I had knocked and no one answered but still I came in, surely then you would be glad to see me!”

As the woman cocked an eyebrow, Imogen snapped her mouth shut. She couldn’t believe the trivial drivel that just erupted from her mouth. 

Sighing, the woman stood up. “Why are you here, Imperial? I’m busy and haven’t the time to sit here and banter with you.”

Imogen made no comment about how the woman was just reading. “Does a Telvanni wizard live here?”

“Yes,” The woman replied.

“May I speak with them?”

“Yes.”

“Oh!” Imogen blinked, erasing all the pleads and sob stories she had prepared just in case she was turned away. “Thank you so much!”

“Yeah, yeah,” The woman grumbled as she sat on the desk and started reading again. 

A few minutes of silence passed and Imogen began to grow uneasy. “I hate to interrupt you again,” she started.

“But you will anyway,” the woman replied.

Imogen ignored her. “Where is the wizard of this tower?”

Without missing a beat, the woman pointed upwards. Imogen followed the woman’s finger and flinched when she saw just how far up the ceiling was from where they were standing. The walls seemed to stretch for miles! 

Imogen studied the walls. There seemed to be no ladder or footholds anywhere. “How do I get up there?” Imogen inquired. 

The woman snorted and snapped her book shut. “You’ll have to figure that one out,” she chuckled as she hopped off the desk and headed for another room. 

Now alone in the room, Imogen stared upwards once more. She tested the wall to see if there was any way for her to climb up it, but alas, the walls were too smooth for her to grasp. She explored the other lower rooms, but they were just a kitchen and a bedroom that she was quickly ushered out of by the old Dunmer woman. Back in the main room, Imogen kept looking up.

So close! She screamed in her head. So tantalizingly close! 

Imogen must have spent at least an hour or so just standing in that main room, plotting a way to reach the top. Finally, with a defeated sigh, Imogen exited the tower and descended the stairs, arms folded under her bosom and her eyebrows knitted closely together.

“There has to be a way up,” Imogen declared as she marched down the steps, unfazed by the fact that she was speaking aloud. “There just has to be. I know I’m giving up way too easily, but standing around an empty room isn’t going to solve anything. I’ll have to consult my books, see what I have on Telvanni culture. Though, just thinking about it, I don’t think I have much on that topic at all. Well, then, there has to be a bookstore somewhere nearby. Or perhaps I can somehow study the locals a bit and see what I can gather from them.”

As Imogen started to walk away from the tower, she spotted the dunmer woman from the shop. The woman was working the stalls, though she didn’t have many customers to attend to. The woman looked up at Imogen and sneered before turning her attention back to her wares. 

No, Imogen said, keeping her thoughts to herself. No, studying the locals won’t do me any good. They despise me. I doubt they’ll clue me in on any secrets I need. As she started to head out of town, the sound of distant field work made her pause. 

But perhaps there are some people who might be more eager to help…

~.~

“What do you want, Imperial? You’re going to get me into trouble.”

As Imogen crouched behind the wooden fence, she grimaced. “I know, I’m sorry. By the Nine, I don’t mean to get you into any sort of trouble. I just have some questions I need answers to, and I feel like you might be one of the only ones who could help me.”

The Argonian dug the spade sharply into the ground and grunted. “Why? You think that because I’m a slave I’ll do whatever you ask of me?”

Imogen shook her head, eyes darting around to see if she could spot the overseer anywhere, but she could only see Argonians and Khajiits from where she was hiding. “No, no, of course not! I think what they are doing to you is terrible, but there really isn’t much of anything I can do. I have no voice in this province. And I know the last thing you want from me is pity for your plight, but perhaps there is something I can offer you that could potentially help you.”

She procured a few septims from her bag and held them up to the Argonian. He eyed them, then quickly glanced around for the overseer. “You really think a few coins will loosen my lips?”

Imogen smiled. “Of course not. I know these coins won’t get you very far, but they could possibly help, yes?”

“No,” The Argonian replied. “They will think I stole them. If you really want to help me, you’d buy me and set me free.”

Hesitant, Imogen frowned. “I don’t know if I have the money for that…”

“Exactly,” The Argonian said as he started digging in the field again. “Now leave before you get me in-”

“-What’s going on here?” A voice broke into their conversation, but Imogen quickly noted that the voice came from her side of the fence, not from inside the field where the Argonian worked. 

Not too far from where Imogen hid stood the woman from the market. She stood, arms akimbo, an eyebrow cocked at the Argonian. 

Again, the Argonian’s eyes darted around to make sure he wasn’t being watched. “Is this Imperial a friend of yours, Mirihesa? Because she’s going to get me into trouble.”

The woman, Mirihesa, rolled her eyes. “Of course not. Now get back to work before I complain to Olvesa about your slacking. I need those crops to sell you know.” 

Imogen thought it strange how the woman spoke. Mirihesa started off the conversation by whispering but ended it by loudly projecting her voice as if she wanted everyone to hear what she had to say. Before Imogen could think of it further, the Dumner woman latched onto Imogen’s wrist and dragged the Imperial away.

“Honestly, of all the stupid, stubbornness I’ve seen,” Mirihesa grumbled as she tightened her grip on Imogen. 

“P-please,” Imogen implored. “You’re hurting me!”

Mirihesa whipped her head around, her cerulean hair coming loose from her bun. “As I should! What were you doing, conspiring with slaves? Stupid Imperials, thinking they can just sauntering anywhere and put their flag down. Isn’t it bad enough you got your stupid fortresses everywhere? No, you have to invade our homes and muck up everything.”

As they reached the town, night was starting to fall. Mirihesa dragged Imogen all the way to Imogen’s lean-to as if the Dunmer knew it was there. She pushed Imogen towards it like a master shoving his dog to its corner. Imogen stumbled but was able to keep her balance. Indignant, she snapped around and scowled. But Mirihesa interceded before Imogen could get a word out.

“We Telvanni favor magic and knowledge above all things,” Mirihesa said harshly. “If you can provide neither, we want nothing to do with you. That’s how you get up.”

With that Mirihesa turned on her heels and headed back to town. Imogen watched the Dumner for a while before crawling into her lean-to. 

“‘That’s how you get up,’” Imogen repeated as she huddled under her makeshift roof. “What does...oh...oh, oh yes!” Imogen shot up, bumping her head and almost toppling the structure around her over. “Up! To get up the tower, to meet the wizard there, I must use Magicka. Oh, Imogen, you stupid, stupid girl! How did you let that one get by you?”

A newfound giddiness took over Imogen as she bolted from her lean-to and ran back into town. A quiet irradiated from the town as its citizens returned to their homes for the night, but Imogen clomped her way back to the mushroom tower, skirt hiked up slightly as her boots hit the ground hard. She must have looked mad! But Imogen did not mind her appearance at that moment as she rushed up the stairs and entered to the tower. She didn’t even seem to care that old Dunmer woman was scolding her again for entering without permission. 

Impulsively, Imogen stood on top of the woman’s desk and closed her eyes. She tuned out the woman’s scolding and took a deep breath in and out. The Dunmer’s chastisement faded in Imogen’s mind as it was replaced by the soothing sway of an ocean spray hitting the coastline. When she lived in Anvil with Quaril, Imogen would sometimes visit the oceanside at night when she was safe from the sun. She would listen to the waves and watch the water dance. Ever vigilant, Imogen never waded into the water. She would stick her feet in at the coastline, but never went further than where the water hit her knees. She had always longed to go out further, to let the water nestle her in its bosom, but as much as she loved the water, she was very fearful of it. She had never properly learned how to swim, and she was afraid she would get caught up in the current. 

Yes, caught in the current. Imogen put herself there, placed herself smack dab in the center of the ocean. She felt the water rock her back and forth, up and down. Imogen crossed her legs underneath her and rested her hands on her lap, letting the gentle waves carry her. She could feel the tide rising. Rising. Rising. She could feel herself rising and swaying with the ebb and flow. 

“If you put a hole in my ceiling, you’ve better be able to pay for it.”

The gruff voice snapped Imogen out of her meditation. Her eyes popped open to see a wall in front of her. No, no, not a wall, Imogen quickly assessed. It’s much too curved. No This must be...the ceiling!

Imogen’s mediation had worked. She was able to levitate up the tower! She felt herself shift and suddenly she was upside-down, giving herself a rather interesting view of the room before her. This room was much more decorated than the lower floor, with plenty of tables and other such furnishings. A man was standing at one such table, glancing up at her but taking little notice of her presence. 

Instinctively, Imogen looked down, an action she deeply regretted. The height gave her a massive case of vertigo that disrupted her concentration. As if someone had cut a rope that had been tied around her, Imogen plummeted towards the floor. Panicking, she flailed her arms about her before squeezing her eyes shut and thrusting her hands out as if to press against a wall to slow down her descent. Rather ungracefully, Imogen was able to slow down her fall using what little levitation she could muster in her panic. When her feet finally touched the floor, Imogen let out a sigh of relief. 

Safely on the floor, Imogen opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. The man was now completely ignoring her, working on something that Imogen couldn’t see. Imogen could now gather a few of the other furnishings in the room, like the many bookcases that bordered the walls, quite a few vials adorning shelves, and other paraphernalia that Imogen usually acquainted with Quaril. 

She watched the man in silence for a few moments as she caught her breath. Soon, her breathing returned to its normal, yet strangely shallow, self that she had gotten used to over the course of her Vampirism, and her heart returned to its irregular beating. For some reason, Imogen’s heartbeat seemed to resemble a human’s beat when she was panicked or scared. She found that odd and had always meant to write to Quaril about it, but seemed to always forget about it once she sat down to write. 

“Pardon me,” Imogen mustered once she felt like she could speak without gasping for breath. “But are you the wizard of this tower?”

“Yes,” the man replied huffily as he continued to work. 

Imogen nodded to herself in encouragement. “I wish to...to speak with you. About...uh...well…”

The Dunmer turned around. He was about two heads taller over her and much leaner, which only made him seem even taller and thus more intimidating to Imogen. He studied her with a look a student might give a book he wishes he didn’t have to study from as he placed his hands on his hips. 

“Speak quickly. I don’t have time for idle prattle.” 

Again, Imogen realized how rashly she had acted. She planned out this journey, bought herself a guide, found a way to get to this city, and finally found a Telvanni mage to talk with, but now she found herself tongue-tied because she didn’t plan out what she was going to say! With a shaky hand, Imogen rummaged through her bag as she started rambling. 

“Well,” she started. “You see, I, uh...I’m from the Arcane University, and-”

The man snorted and turned his back on her in a flash. 

Imogen froze before she started stuttering again. “H-Hey! At least hear me out before you pass judgment,” She huffed and pouted towards him, pulling a book out of her bag. “Honestly, I don’t quite understand this place. I mean, I understand that this town doesn’t like Imperials and I’m an Imperial, but that doesn’t mean you should cast judgment on me so quickly.

“The same goes for me being from the Arcane University. You scoffed at me as soon as the words came out of my mouth,” Here, Imogen crossed her arms and tilted her head. “And why was that?”

“The Arcane University is full of fools and cowards, and if you came from there, you must either be a fool or a coward. Or better yet, both,” The man replied, his back still to her. 

Imogen shot him the haughty look she had practiced a long time ago when she was learning to be a Lady. “And if what I have heard about the Telvanni is correct, you must either be brilliant or a madman. Or better yet, both.”

Swiftly, the man turned around, causing Imogen to flinch a bit, giving away her bravado. “And which, pray tell, were you looking for?” he asked.

Pursing her lips and cradling her book, Imogen studied him. He still gave her this bored look and was very brusque with her, but he hadn’t completely turned her away yet. 

“Both,” she replied. 

There was a beat before the man gave a strange sort of chuckle as he turned back to his work. “Well, then, you have certainly come to the right place.”


	8. Haggling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two: Outlander in Outlandish Territory  
> In which Imogen decides to travel to Morrowind to seek the help of the Telvanni to research the Tear'm Ouada and gets more than she bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't plan to upload everything I have all at once, but I wanted to at least get you guys to where Master Neloth ACTUALLY shows up. So yeah.

“I am Master Neloth, the greatest Telvanni Wizard to ever live, and probably the greatest Wizard Tamriel has ever known.”

Imogen thought the introduction to be a bit much, but she made no comment about it. “A pleasure,” she said. “My name is Imogen, and I have something of a...well, I’m not quite sure how to describe it. You see, I’ve been research something, and I would like your opinion on the matter.”

Imogen opened her book to the earmarked page and held it out to Neloth. He didn’t take the book, but he did glance down at its contents. Biting her lip, Imogen continued to hold the book out, even shaking it slightly to indicate that she wanted him to look at it further, but Neloth didn’t take the bait. Instead, he knitted his brows together for a moment before flashing them upwards.

“You wanted _my_ opinion on the matter, or you wanted _somebody’s_ opinion on the matter?” he asked.

Blinking a few times, Imogen took the book back and started to leaf through it hastily. “Uh, well, I suppose...I had asked a colleague about it at the University, and he had said...well, I don’t suppose he actually meant it, but he said that -and these were his words, not mine- that the only ones ‘crazy’ enough to even consider messing with this kind of magic would be the Telvanni. And so...well, here I am.”

Once her small rant was over, Imogen shut the book and brought the cover up to her mouth, hiding a sheepish smile. She was painfully aware of how ridiculous she sounded, yet all she did was speak the truth.

Meanwhile, Neloth folded his arms across his chest and shifted on his feet, leaning slightly to the left. “Are you telling me that you came all this way from Cyrodiil based on the sarcastic suggestion of another to ask a Telvanni Wizard’s opinion on an artifact you found in a book?”

Imogen winced but kept the sheepish smile on her face. “That does about sum it up, I suppose.”

“So I was right,” Neloth stated as he started to turn around. “You are a fool.”

As Neloth turned his attention back to his table, Imogen opened the book again and scurried over to his side. “Listen,” She pleaded, glancing at the strange, round contraption he was messing with as she held the book closely to her chest. “I know it sounds...well, it sounds stupid; believe me, I know that. But this is very important to me. I would really like to look into this artifact more closely, but I honestly have no idea where to start.”

As she spoke, Neloth picked up a small needle and started to poke at the ridges of the device in front of him, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at it. Imogen watched him for a minute as he appeared to try to pry it open, but she shook her head and snapped back to attention.

“None of my colleagues seem to believe that this thing exists. They all seem very certain that it has been disproven. But how can one disprove something’s existence? We can only prove something exists or never find proof of it. Perhaps the reason we don’t think it is real is because no one has yet to find it. It could be out there somewhere, and wouldn’t that be something? To find this...this thing no one has ever thought to seek out?

“Oh, I know it sounds like rubbish to you; I can see it in your face, but it’s not rubbish to me. Can’t you help me in some way? Even if it’s just giving me advice on what to do next? Something that will help me find this...this...Tear’m Ouada.”

Neloth stuck the needle in his mouth and started to use his fingernails to pry the contraption open. Slowly, the metal orb started to split apart. Once he had it a good ways apart, he stuck the needle back in to continue his work.

“Te-AR-em. Te-AR-em Oh-oo-AH-da,” He grunted. “If you’re desperate enough to find it, at least pronounce it correctly.”

Imogen blinked. “Te-ar-um…?”

“In Dunmeri, you pronounce every vowel.”

“Te-ar-um Oh-you-ah-da,” she said carefully.

Neloth rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Close enough,” He dug both sets of fingers into the crevice of the device before finally prying the entire thing open. The inside was hollow but a strange puff of air escaped as it opened, a vibrant green color before it evaporated. Neloth cocked an eyebrow before taking up a pencil from next to the device and jotting something down in a journal which lay on the desk.

“The Tear’m Ouada,” he said as he took up a small brush and started smearing some sort of thick, clear liquid onto the device. “The Shadow’s River. Of all the preternatural artifacts on Nirn, why is that the one you’re obsessing over?”

Imogen flashed her eyebrows. “So you’ve heard of it.”

Neloth snorted. “Of course I have. I make it my business to know these things. I’m a bit of a collector. You should take a look at my collection some time; I believe you would find it most impressive.

“And now, to repeat since you completely ignored my question, why are you seeking this particular artifact out? Because fame and fortune nor even legacy seem to be your cup of tea from what I can gather.”

She pursed her lips together as he continued to smear the strange substance onto the strange device. Why did she want to find this mirror so badly? What about this particular artifact made her jump at the first chance to go on this adventure?

Clutching at her black skirt, she knew why. Deep down, she knew why, but she couldn’t say it. Couldn’t utter the words. She felt the words settle in her throat as minutes went by in silence.

Finally, she murmured, “It’s personal, I suppose.”

Neloth sighed, and the action almost seemed like one of disappointment to Imogen, but she couldn’t tell. “That’s a reason, I’ll give you that.

“Now my next question,” he said as he delicately placed the brush down and cast a small flame in his hands and held the flame to the liquid he had been spreading. “Which is more important than the last one, is this: why would _I_ want to help _you_?”

Imogen loosened her grip on her skirt. “To get me to leave you alone?” She offered.

“Wrong,” Neloth replied. “I can do that very easily without aiding you. Try again. And mind how you answer.”

With a bit of a nervous twitch, Imogen smiled and gestured with her hands a shrug. “For the pursuit of knowledge?”

Neloth tsked her. “One last chance.”

“...I’ll pay you?”

In a flash, Neloth ceased the spell he was casting and held up a palm towards Imogen. She flinched, but nothing came towards her. Instead, her arms stuck to her side and the air rushed passed her, and the next thing she knew, she was floating over the opening of the tower’s shaft, and no matter how much she struggled, she couldn’t move her arms or legs.

“H-Hey, what are you doing?!” she cried out.

Neloth sauntered over to the opening, looking up at her as she squirmed. “Do you really think I _need_ or _want_ your money?”

“Please put me down!”

He released Imogen for a brief second before casting the spell on her again. The sudden dip caused Imogen to yelp.

“Do choose your words carefully,” Neloth warned.

Imogen huffed. “Oh please, isn’t that a bit cliche?”

He shrugged. “I hadn’t done it yet.”

“Oh come on,” Imogen pleaded. “All you had to do was say ‘no’ and I would have been on my way. There’s no need for, for...for such theatrics!”

“Theatrics?” Neloth repeated. With a flick of his wrist, he spun Imogen around so she was upside down. Again, she yelped, closing her eyes tightly so she wouldn’t get dizzy again.

“Are you implying that my magic is nothing more than cheap parlor tricks?” he questioned with a chastising tone.

Rapidly, Imogen shook her head. “No, sir. I didn’t mean it like that. I just feel that you’re being a little too dramatic, is all.”

He walked closer to her, a hand on his hip as he watched her whimper. Smirking, he briefly let go of her once again, savoring the yelp she let out before she instinctively gnashed her teeth together to brace for impact. At this, his smile foundered and he brought her out from over the hole.

“Open your mouth,” he demanded when he brought her face close to his own.

Imogen shook her head, eyes still snapped shut.

Neloth sighed. “I tried asking nicely,” he chided as he flicked his wrist to keep her in place. Both hands now free, he stuck his fingers in her mouth and pried it open, scrutinizing each molar. Imogen squawked in protest, but he held her jaw in place.

When he finally let go, Imogen’s jaw snapped shut. She felt him poking at her eyelids, trying to pry them open as well. Rather than deal with the pain, Imogen opened them herself. Neloth still used his fingers to hold them open, which disgusted Imogen since his fingers were covered with her saliva (though she was thankful it was her own and not someone else's). He gazed into each eye critically before stepping away from her face.

“Yes, there is a tint of red, isn’t there?” he muttered. He stroked his chin and looked upwards for a few minutes before turning his attention back to her. “You’re not Human, are you.”

Imogen swallowed and glowered at him, but the endeavor was rather difficult while upside-down. “I am!”

“Don’t lie,” he warned. “You’re only making this more difficult.”

“Fine, yes, I’m not Human. I mean, I am Human. But I’m also a Vampire. It’s...well, it’s sort of hard to explain.”

“No it isn’t,” Neloth replied. “You’re a Vampire. Simple as that.”

Imogen shook her head. “That’s not how Qua...I mean, that’s not how I look at it.”

He shrugged. “It’s all the same. Now, I do believe we can work something out here.” Neloth flicked his wrist and Imogen tumbled onto the floor next to him. Trying to ignore the aches she now felt, Imogen got to her feet and dusted herself off.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You want my help researching and perhaps even finding this...Tear’m Ouada,” Neloth started pacing around her, gesturing with his hands as he said the name of the artifact.

Imogen watched him evenly. “Yes…”

Neloth continued to pace around her for a few seconds more before stopping at looking straight at her. “I want to study you.”

Jerking back, Imogen blinked. “Study me?”

“I’ve never gotten the chance to study a living Vampire up close before,” Neloth explained. “I’ll help you with this little project of yours if you let me study you.”

As eager as she was to hear he would assist her, Imogen narrowed her eyes. “And what exactly does being studied entail?”

“Poking, prodding, experimenting on,” he replied casually. “The usual.”

Imogen turned her head away from him but still kept her eyes trained on Neloth. “That’s a rather vague explanation.”

“I know. I was vague on purpose,” Neloth said, smirking. “But I suppose I can promise not to purposely kill you or anything of that nature.”

“Lovely,” Imogen responded, tightening her jaw. “How about this then: I’ll let you study me, but I have the right to refuse experimentation if I don’t feel safe. If I am not comfortable with the experiment, you cannot conduct said experiment.”

Neloth pondered her offer over. “That does limit some ideas I have. But it also leaves some ideas up in the air. Well, I suppose it will have to do. Very well. I accept your deal. I get to study you, I help you with this little project of your.”

“And I get to set up the terms of your study,” Imogen added.

Neloth brusquely nodded. “Yes, yes, of course,” he held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Imogen studied his hand, narrowing her eyes. “I want this agreement in writing.”

“Why?”

“I don’t trust you.”

“But you’ll trust a piece of paper?” Neloth huffed. “You Imperials are always so official, aren’t you? Very well. Come, come, step into my parlor, little fly, and we’ll jot down the details of this little agreement of ours.”

As Neloth headed for the adjacent room, Imogen followed a few steps back. Whoever is listening, she pleaded. Please watch over me.

 

Initially, Master Neloth wanted to proceed with the experimentations right away after writing up the agreement and signing the papers, all witness by Arara Uvulas, the old woman who lives downstairs. While Imogen wasn’t thrilled at the idea of having another soul know she was a Vampire, she was thankful and even surprised when Neloth offered to call upon the woman to act as a witness. Such an act was not only official but also somewhat kind, as it reassured Imogen that Master Neloth intended to keep his promise, at least for the moment. It would have made Imogen feel even more at ease if the witness wasn’t a partisan, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

As soon as the paperwork was all signed and sorted, Master Neloth began to hurriedly interrogate the poor Imperial. He asked so many questions at once that Imogen felt dizzy and couldn’t answer any of them. As Neloth flitted from desk to bookshelf to cabinet, Imogen held her hands up in front of her and waved them.

“Please, please, it’s very late. Could we please begin fresh in the morning?” she offered.

Neloth opened a drawer and pulled out a pristine-looking journal. He, at once, opened it and stretched it out, breaking its spine before turning to the very first, unmarked page.

“Aren’t you nocturnal?” he asked, licking the tip of his pencil.

Imogen shook her head. “No. I mean yes. I can be. But I’m not. Or well, I haven’t been,” She paused, biting her lip and waving her hands about as if she was trying to command her thoughts to congregate. “What I mean is that, yes, I do prefer to stay out of the sun, but I have been living a daytime schedule lately, so I’m not used to staying up at night.”

She watched as he jotted something down in the journal. “I see,” he murmured before snapping the book shut. “Very well. I’ll bombard you for all the details tomorrow. It’ll give me time to figure out where I want to start with all this.”

Smiling, the girl gave a small bow before heading back to the tower’s hole. She turned back to Neloth, who had already turned his attention back to the contraption he had been working on.

“Don’t forget,” she said. “That you promised to help me find the mirror as well.”

Without looking at her, Neloth waved her off. “Yes, yes. I won’t forget.”

“Good night,” Imogen chimed, watching him work. She received no reply. Instead, Neloth began muttering to himself as he tinkered with the device. Shrugging, Imogen took a deep breath and prepared herself for the descent.  
~.~

When she had constructed her lean-to, Imogen had planned ahead and built it so it would face away from the sunrise. The morning sun couldn’t sneak up on her, though it did make waking up somewhat difficult. Instead of the sun caressing her face, the shadow of her lean-to would loom overhead. The sounds of the town waking up were usually enough to rouse Imogen from her sleep.

That morning, rather than gradually waking up, Imogen awoke with a yelp as she felt the piercing chill of cold water soak her through. She jumped up, bumping her head against the slanted roof once again. Rubbing her head and sitting back down, she winced and glanced up at the attacker.

Mirihesa stood akimbo, a bucket dangling next to her hip as it rested where her left wrist met her hipbone. The Dunmer leaned forward slightly as if she wanted the Imperial to get a good look at the anger boiling in her eyes.

“Did you steal a chukar from the neighboring farm?” Mirihesa hissed, sharply cocking her head to the side.

Water dripping from her head, Imogen blinked. “Ch-chukar…?”

The Dunmer gruffed and rolled her eyes. “It’s a little brown bird. Like a -what do you have in Cyrodiil?- a chicken. They’re game birds.”

Imogen didn’t dare look at her bag which now had a few bottles of freshly drawn blood. “I didn’t steal anything,” Imogen replied softly. Technically, Imogen spoke the truth. She didn’t take the Chukar from the farm. But the bird was so small that Imogen had to kill it in order to get its blood. The larger animals on the farm frightened her, plus she didn’t think the farmers would miss just one bird since there were so many to choose from.

She thought she deposed of the body well enough that no one would find it.

Mirihesa ran her tongue against the inside of her mouth, eyes looking away from Imogen. “Olvesa says she’s missing one, and you were snooping around there yesterday.”

Imogen shook her head. “I didn’t steal one, I promise.”

Huffing, Mirihesa chucked the bucket at Imogen. Luckily, it landed a few inches away from the Imperial, who watched it roll towards her. Turning on her heels, Mirihesa started stomping towards the town. She stopped after a few steps and just stood in the middle of the dirt path Imogen’s lean-to rested next to. Standing up, Imogen started wringing her hair out, watching as the Dunmer turned around. Mirihesa stood up straight, but her head was inclined to one side, tongue in cheek.

“Why did you go to see Master Neloth yesterday?” she asked.

Imogen paused her actions and furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”

“Why did you go to see Master Neloth yesterday,” Mirihesa repeated without missing a beat.

Imogen blinked but continued to wring out her hair. “I don’t mean to sound rude,” she said as sweetly as she could. “But I don’t believe that is your business to know.”

“We don’t want you here,” Mirihesa replied evenly, nodding her head in emphasis. “We don’t like you.”

Letting her hair tumble around her, still soaked, Imogen pursed her lips. The two girls stared at one another. Mirihesa didn’t speak with anger or hatred; she spoke as if stating a simple, plain-as-day fact. She might as well have said “The sun is in the sky,” or “It is morning.”

The researcher in Imogen couldn’t rest. From where she stood, a good seven feet or so away from the Dunmer, Imogen searched the girl’s face, trying to discover a deeper meaning to the girl’s words. After all, the last time the Dunmer chastised her, Mirihesa had given Imogen the key to reaching the top of Neloth’s tower. But Mirihesa stared at Imogen with eyes that said, “I meant every word.”

“Master Neloth and I are conducting business together,” Imogen finally responded in a low, even voice. “I won’t be leaving until our business has ended.”

Around them, the sounds of birds and other beasts echoed among the breeze that drifted over the tiny mushroom forest. Branches of the few “normal” trees which resided in the forest creaked in the wind as Mirihesa took a deep breath with her nose.

“You’re kidding,” Mirihesa declared.

“I am not,” Imogen returned.

Mirihesa set her jaw and whipped around, rushing out of the forest and towards the town. Imogen called out to her, but she fell short. Assessing herself, Imogen felt it unwise to continue the day in her soaked dress.

It’s been awhile since I’ve washed it anyway, I suppose, she thought as she turned back to her lean-to. Cautiously, she changed out of the dress and shift and put on some leggings and a dark grey tunic. They weren’t exactly mourning clothes, but they would do while she waited for the dress to dry. After running her comb through her hair, she tied it back with a bright blue ribbon. Pulling on her boots, Imogen gathered what supplies she wanted to take with her before hiding the rest under blankets and dead leaves. Sighing, she braced herself for whatever Master Neloth had in store for her that day.

~.~  
“It’s an outrage! Of all the ostentatious things you’ve pulled, this has got to be your worse!”

The voice rang out against the mushrooms dense walls as Imogen entered the tower. Arara was seated at her desk in the main room of the lower level. One her desk was bright red yarn, and she was knitting in the most peculiar fashion. Rather than using needles of any sort, the yarn was wrapped around her index fingers and the yarn seemed to knit itself. It was such a site to see that Imogen could almost ignore what was most definitely Mirihesa’s voice shouting from above.

“See what trouble you have caused, outlander?” Arara said, her lip curling up into a small smile as she focused on the knitting in front of her.

When she had met the old woman the day before, Imogen had gathered that the woman was a sort of aid or maid for Master Neloth, but she hadn’t thought about the woman being a mage herself. Imogen frowned at herself. _How shortsighted_ , she scolded.

“I never meant to cause trouble, Miss Uvulas,” Imogen offered.

Arara shrugged as Mirihesa started yelling again. “How could you do this to me?” Mirihesa bellowed. “After all these years. Doesn’t loyalty mean anything to you?”

There was a pause. Imogen could only assume Neloth was responding to Mirihesa, but he must have been much calmer, for Imogen could not hear his voice in the slightest.

Mirihesa continued. “For years, I have provided for you. You’ve had me run around this forsaken island, doing your dirty work. I have sold my wares to you so cheaply that I’ve almost gone broke from it. And how do you repay me? By giving this detestable n’wah a reason to stay here!”

Imogen tilted her head. “What’s an n’wah?”

Sighing, Arara slipped her fingers out from her knitting. The yarn froze in place as she walked over to Imogen and grabbed the girl by the forearm.

“You’re an n’wah,” she replied, and slowly, the two of them began to levitate up the shoot. At first, Imogen tried to protest; Mirihesa was seething, and to enter the room seemed to be like stepping into a volcano for Imogen. But Arara wouldn’t hear it. She shushed the girl, and the two of them continued the ascent in silence.

When they landed in Neloth’s laboratory, Mirihesa whipped around to face them, as if she knew Imogen was there. She looked like a cat about to pounce, her hands clenched tightly and flailing about as she spoke. “This doesn’t concern you!” she shouted.

Master Neloth was a few feet away, leaning the small of his back against the table behind him, arms crossed against his chest. “Actually, it does,” he mused.

Mirihesa scowled, but she unclenched her fists and ran her fingers through her hair as if attempted to gather up the strays that were flying around her head. She shifted so she was facing neither Imogen nor Neloth, off to the side so she could see both.

“I want her gone,” she demanded, setting her jaw as she looked upwards.

“That’s not up to you,” Master Neloth returned.

Mirihesa took a deep breath, pushing down on the air with her hands as if she was trying to push her anger away. Imogen admired that the girl was trying to calm down despite how upset she was.

“You know I trust you, kena,” Mirihesa spoke to Neloth, but she still kept her gaze away from him. “But please, listen to me.”

Master Neloth pushed himself away from the desk and strode up to Mirihesa, wrapping his fingers around her arm. “You’re festering. You’re a thorn in my side, and I will hear no more demands from a s’wit who can’t even conjure a simple flare,” As he spoke, Neloth pushed the girl towards the tower shaft. Mirihesa dug her heels into the ground, but the old man proved to be surprisingly strong.

“What are you doing?!” Imogen exclaimed. As they neared the shaft, Imogen tried to intercede, but she found herself stuck in place, not by magic but by shock. Swiftly, Neloth nudged Mirihesa down the hole. Imogen could hear Mirihesa’s sharp yelp echo off the walls.

“Master Neloth!” Imogen yelled, her face twisted in anxiety.

Neloth wiped his hands on his robe as he strode back to his desk. “Don’t worry about her.”

“But-!” Imogen started to protest, but she quickly noticed that Arara was now missing. Mirihesa was no longer screaming in fear, but Imogen heard her shout up towards Neloth.

“This isn’t over!” she threatened before Imogen heard the front door slam shut. Imogen let out a sigh of relief. Arara must have stopped the girl from meeting her demise.

Imogen looked over at Neloth. He was gathering various bottles and what appeared to be a dagger. “How could you do that?” She shuttered. “You could have killed her!”

Tactlessly, Neloth plopped his tools onto the table closest to Imogen before taking a hold of her hair and yanking her towards the table. As she yelped, he said, “I didn’t though.”

Once she was seated at the table, Imogen pulled herself out of his grip. “That isn’t the point, and you know it.”

He shrugged. “It’s her fault. She should learn to use her magicka properly.” He snorted. “If Arara didn’t insist on helping the welp, that child might have learned to save herself.”

Imogen frowned as Neloth started to roll up her left sleeve. “That’s unnecessarily cruel. And what exactly are you doing?”

Instead of responding, Neloth took the blue ribbon out of Imogen’s hair and quickly tied it around her arm, just below her elbow. She winced as he tightened it. Imogen felt herself tense up as she watched him unsheathe the silver dagger. Instinctively, she placed her free hand on her own dagger which rested on her hip underneath her tunic.

“Please answer me,” she whispered. He shushed her and brought the blade to her exposed skin. When the cold metal caressed her skin, she jumped, tugging her arm away from it. Neloth raised an eyebrow and repeated the action. Before she could wiggle away, he stood in front of her and placed his free hand on her right shoulder, holding her in place.

All Neloth did was lay the blade against her skin, but the small action caused Imogen to hiss. She squirmed, desperate to get away from the metal, even barring her teeth at the wizard. As she glared daggers at him, Neloth smirked and removed the dagger from her skin. With the immediate danger gone, Imogen closed her mouth, but her eyes were still hard and glaring at Neloth, who only returned the look with apathy.

“Don’t care much for silver?” he mused before placing it down on the table so he could record the findings in his journal.

Imogen shuddered as she focused on her breathing. “Apparently not. I thought we’d agreed that I set the terms for the experiments. You can’t just do something without informing me.”

He waved her off, shutting the book and placing it on the table. As he took up the dagger again, Imogen began to protest. Again, he shushed her.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he informed her.

“Excellent,” Imogen spat. “But you still haven’t told me what you’re doing!”

Neloth sighed. “I want to take a blood sample.”

A shiver ran down Imogen’s spine. “What?!”

“Hold still or I might cut you too deeply,” Neloth commanded as he gripped the dagger tightly and moved towards her arm again.

Imogen squirmed, but Neloth had returned his surprisingly strong hold on her. “Wait,” she begged. “Please, at least use my blade. It’s gold!”

Before the dagger touched her skin, Neloth paused. Imogen watched him as he rocked his head from side to side as if he was literally tossing the idea around in his head.

“Fine,” he conceded, sheathing the silver dagger. He released his grip on Imogen’s shoulder to allow her to procure her own blade. Despite being made of gold, it was rather plain. Even still, Imogen did well to keep it hidden so nobody would get the idea of pilfering it.

She held the blade out for Neloth and he snatched it up. As he unsheathed it, he examined the blade closely. Imogen waited for him to continue. It wasn’t that she was eager to give the blood sample; because he had tied her ribbon around her arm, Imogen was starting to lose the feeling in said arm. She was growing worried that it might just pop off!

Neloth made an incision near her shoulder, a thin line of blood rushing to the surface. Imogen inhaled sharply and closed her eyes for a few moments. She had just fed on chukar blood a day or so ago, but that smell! And to think that her own blood could entice her so much.

Poking at the cut, Neloth frowned and pressed his index finger and thumb against either side of the cut. Imogen winced, and a trickle of blood dripped from the sore. Neloth handed the dagger back to Imogen and selected a bottle from the table as well as what appeared to be a small brass sewing needle. He positioned the bottle just below the cut before sticking the needle inside the incision. Imogen squealed, jerking back. Neloth tried to grab hold of her, but she jumped off the chair and staggered backwards, almost tripping over the chair.

“Stay still,” Neloth ordered.

“What is wrong with you?!” Imogen demanded.

The bottle still in his hand, Neloth placed his hands on his hips. “You do realize the needle is still in your arm. Keep moving like that and you’ll lodge it in there.”

Imogen froze and peered down at her arm. Sure enough, the brass needle was sticking out of her arm, a brook of blood cascading down her arm. As Imogen stared at the scene, wide-eyed, Neloth sidled over to her and placed the bottle downstream. It took some maneuvering, but the blood eventually started to flow into the bottle. As Neloth collected the blood, he plucked the needle out of Imogen’s arm. Like a dam bursting, the babbling brook became a river as the blood started to flow faster. Hypnotized, Imogen watched the blood pool into the bottle.

“I’ve spent years bleeding animals, but I’ve never had it down to myself,” Imogen murmured. “It surprisingly doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“It usually doesn’t,” Neloth replied, waiting for the bottle to fill so he could switch it out for the next bottle. Imogen was too entranced to worry about how much blood he was taking from her.

They watched the blood flow in silence for a few minutes. After Neloth had two small bottles filled (about one pint), he untied the ribbon. With a wave of his hand, the blood flow slowly ceased, and soon the cut started to disappear. Imogen raised her eyebrows. She had never seen a healing spell work so fast.

Neloth corked the bottles tightly and examined them for a few moments. Frowning, he turned to Imogen. “Do you still cycle?”

“Cycle?” Imogen parroted, still busy gawking at her now healed arm.

“Once a month,” Neloth added.

“Once a...” Imogen stiffened, eyes widening. Her face felt like it was on fire. “That’s...to think that...how could...th-that’s none of your business!”

Neloth placed the bottles on the table and scooped up the journal. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Imogen gripped the edge of her tunic tightly, holding her arms close to her body. “Don’t write that down. It’s none of your business!”

“Is it happening now?” he pondered.

“No!”

“Then tell me when it starts up again.”

“T-tell y-! No!”

Neloth rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. I’ll just have to figure it out on my own.”

“Why?” Imogen demanded. “No, on second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know why you’d want to know when...ugh, just...can we please move to a new topic? I’m feeling rather lightheaded.”

Neloth snorted but pushed her towards the chair. “That’s probably from the blood loss, not the bloody topic.”

She groaned as she sat down. “Why would you word it that way? You worded it that way on purpose.”

He sat down in the chair next to her, leaning closer. “Does it give you the same reaction as regular blood? Does it make you want to feed?”

In a flash, Imogen’s hands covered her face. “Please, stop! That’s so vile!”

“It’s a valid question,” he said with a mockingly faux offended tone as he placed a hand to his heart.

Still covering her face, Imogen hunched over as if she was going to vomit. “No, it doesn’t, okay? It doesn’t...make me want to feed. It doesn’t smell the same. Why am I talking about this?!”

“Research,” Neloth replied as he jotted more notes in his journal. Once finished, he closed the book and closed his right leg over his left. “Now, how about some lunch?”

Imogen groaned. “Oh Gods, someone kill me.”


	9. Affinity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two: Outlander in Outlandish Territory  
> In which Imogen decides to travel to Morrowind to seek the help of the Telvanni to research the Tear'm Ouada and gets more than she bargained for.

Imogen was still a bit woozy when Arara entered Neloth’s parlor. Imogen was not able to get a good look around at that moment, but later on, she discovered that there were multiple rooms on the upper floor of the tower. The central, main room, which was the largest, was Neloth’s lab. Off to the right (if we think of the main door to the tower as south), was a small parlor of sorts. Off to the left, a few yards above the lab, was a small balcony, which Imogen thought odd. An indoor balcony? She later discovered that this balcony led to Neloth’s bedroom, probably the most neglected room in the entire tower. 

 

The parlor was sophisticatedly decorated. Banners and tapestries adorn the walls, fine rugs covered most of the floor, soft cushions surrounded a low table, and incense burners hung overhead. The parlor juxtaposed Neloth’s lab, so much so that Imogen couldn’t believe the room belonged to him! Along the walls were glass cabinets, each filled with precious treasures and trinkets. 

 

After ordering Arara to prepare them some food, Neloth had moved Imogen and himself to the parlor. Neloth was apparently vehemently against eating or drinking in his lab for fear of it contaminating his potions. Imogen was not used to sitting at a table so close to the floor, but the cushions were luscious. The pillows and her blood loss made her want to fall asleep right there. Master Neloth was ignoring her, writing in his journal. 

 

Finally, Arara arrived with the food. She placed the tray on the table and knelt down. Gracefully, she served the various plates. Imogen couldn’t believe how much food was on the table especially for a midday meal, and the number of cups on the table clued her in on the fact that this food was just for her and Master Neloth; Arara was not joining them. The food was unrecognizable to Imogen, but it had a tantalizing aroma she instantly adored. 

 

Arara poured what looked like tea into Master Neloth’s cup. “You should be nicer to Miri,” she said.

 

“No,” Neloth retorted brusquely, picking up the cup with both hands. 

 

She went to pour tea into Imogen’s cup. “I wish you would. She’s been nothing but loyal to you.” 

 

Imogen bowed her head at Arara, thanking her for the tea and for the meal. “Miss Uvulas, if you don’t mind me asking-”

 

“If you’re going to ask me about Mirihesa,” Arara interceded. “I can’t tell you anything. It wouldn’t be right.”

 

Imogen smiled. “I understand. Thank you.”

 

Arara blinked at her. “You’re a strange sort, thanking someone for telling you nothing.”

 

“I suppose,” Imogen agreed. “But I was thanking you for your honesty. And your respect towards Mirihesa’s privacy.” 

 

Arara hesitated before waving Imogen off and exiting the room. When Imogen turned her attention back to the table, she noted that Neloth had already begun helping himself. There was strange white stuff in one bowl, with specks of leafy greens scattered about. On one plate was a dark chunk of what looked like meat, and this also had similar leafy specks on it and in it from what Imogen could see (Neloth had torn a chunk of it off.) On another plate was what appeared to be bread, but Imogen had never seen bread so flat before. The scent it gave off made her think of it as bread. It puffed in spots but looked more like a plate than a loaf. 

 

Cautiously, Imogen did as Neloth did and tore a chunk of the meat off. She sniffed at it. Her stomach rumbled as she placed the meat on her tongue and started to chew. Within seconds, Imogen froze. Or perhaps “froze” isn’t the best word to use, for Imogen felt like she had just cast fire in her mouth. It seared her tongue, and as the seconds went by, Imogen weighed her options. She didn’t want to spit it out, for that would be rude, but she didn’t want to leave it in her mouth because it hurt so badly. And swallowing it sounded terrifying, as she was afraid she would burn a hole in her throat. Across the table, Neloth raised a brow at her, watching as she started fanning herself with her hands, frantically trying to decide what to do. 

 

When her mouth couldn’t take it any longer, her instincts kicked in and she swallowed the meat. She felt it slide down her throat, setting it aflame as it did. Instead of offering any assistance, Neloth continued to watch her struggle. Imogen panted, which made everything worse. Much like fanning a flame, the air stung her mouth. Tears gathered in her eyes. 

 

Her first instinct was to drink something, but all she had was hot tea, and she didn’t want anything hot. Finally, Neloth pushed the strange bread closer to her. She tore a piece of the bread off and chewed it. Like a damp cloth, it quelled the searing flames in her mouth. Everything still stung, but it was more tolerable. By the time the ordeal was finished, Imogen had tears and even snot running down her face.

 

“You’re a mess,” Neloth commented. 

 

Imogen crawled over to her bag, flipping it open and dug through it. She started to cough as she ripped a piece of cloth she found in her bag (she wasn’t sure what is was from but she'd worry about it later.) With the cloth, she wiped her face, sniffling. 

 

"What was that?" She coughed again. 

 

"Flavor," Neloth answered, tossing another piece of meat in his mouth. "Something the food in Cyrodiil desperately lacks, I'm sure."

 

Imogen frowned. "The food in Cyrodiil tastes fine to me."

 

Neloth shrugged. "I didn't think so." Imogen was about to ask if he had ever been to Cyrodiil,  but he pushed to bowl towards her. "Stick with the rice; it's less spicy."

 

Imogen squinted at him, convinced he was lying, but she scooped some of the rice up and gave it a try. Neloth was right;  it wasn't exactly spicy, but it had an exquisite taste to it. Imogen scooped up more and devoured it. 

 

After Imogen had had a few scoops of food in her, Neloth took a sip of his tea and laid the journal open on the table. "When did you turn?" He asked. 

 

Imogen paused, glancing upwards as she counted on her fingers. "Almost ten years ago, I believe." 

 

Neloth nodded as he wrote. "So you're still rather young. What was it like, turning?"

 

Imogen pressed her lips into a straight line. "Please, I'd rather not relive it."

 

"Would you say it was gruesome?"

 

She nodded, slumping over slightly. "I don't want to remember it. I...it felt like I was dying. Or at least I assume that's what dying feels like."

 

Again, Neloth nodded as he wrote. Imogen straightened her back, trying to take a peek at what Neloth was writing, but the book was too far from her. She thought of all the research assignments she assisted with. Never did she think she would be assisting someone's research on herself. 

 

Neloth tapped the pencil against the top of the book, furrowing his brows as he read over what he had written. "You've been studying magic?"

 

Imogen nodded. "I've been studying since I was twelve. Or I suppose it would make more sense to say I've been studying for...wow, 20 years or so. Which only sounds amazing to me because that's almost how old I am, or was when I turned."

 

Neloth ignored her rambling. "What's your affinity?" 

 

She blinked. "My what?"

 

Neloth peered over the top of the journal at her. "Your affinity."

 

Imogen shook her head. "I don't understand..."

 

Neloth sighed, flipping the journal to the very last page. "The ignorant never do."

 

Pushing the plates of food to the side, Neloth flipped the book so it faced Imogen and nudged it closer to her. With his pencil, he drew four circles, one in each cardinal direction. He labeled the top one "air," the bottom one "earth," the left one "water," and the right one "fire."

 

Imogen nodded. "The four elements," she said. 

 

Neloth drew a circle in the middle. "What do you get if you combine them all?" He asked as he drew lines, connecting all the other circles to the center one. 

 

Imogen paused. "Life?"

 

Nodding, Neloth wrote "restoration," in in the center circle. 

 

"Some call it life," he explained. "Others call it spirit.

 

"Now," he continued as he drew a circle away from all the others. "What do you get when you take them all away?"

 

Tilting her head, Imogen pursed her lips in consideration. "Death?" She finally offered. 

 

In the circle, Neloth wrote "Void." Next, he drew a circle between fire and air. 

 

"What do you get when you mix these two?" He asked. 

 

Baffled, Imogen shook her head. 

 

He sighed. "Air and fire make lightning. Air and water make ice." As he spoke, he drew more circles on the page, labeling them as he went.

 

"Air and earth make force. Air and air make wind.

 

"Fire and fire make blaze. Fire and water make steam. Fire and earth make metal.

 

"Water and water make current. Water and earth make stone. Earth and earth make quake."

 

By this point, Imogen’s poor head was spinning. She had no idea what the wizard was talking about. She opened her mouth to ask a question, but Neloth pushed forward. 

 

"Now, if you add some of these combinations together, you get some of the spells I'm sure you're familiar with. For instance, combine force with stone, you get telekinesis. Mix metal and stone and you'll get some basic conjuration spells like binding weapons."

 

Imogen's eyes danced along the page. "I've never learned any of this."

 

"You wouldn't have," Neloth agreed. "It is my own conjecture, one most disagree with. But why limit us to just four elements? I believe there are more out there and that they can be manipulated as I have mentioned. 

 

"You see, since the elements of Nirn combine to create life, they must be connected to the Magicka stream. While a person can aspire to harness any of these elements, each one of us has an Affinity. This is the element we...connect with. For example, for most Dunmer, such as myself, we connect with Fire due to our fiery nature."

 

Neloth ripped the page out of the book and handed it to her. Imogen held it close to her face,  studying each pencil mark. "And you want to know what mine is?"

 

"I'm curious," Neloth admitted. 

 

She poured over the page as if it had the answer to the question. In all honesty, Imogen hadn't the slightest idea. She never thought herself connected to an element. Yes, she could conjure fire, but did that make it her Affinity?

 

Finally, she placed the paper on the table. "I don't know," she said. 

 

"It's really really not a difficult question," Neloth replied. 

 

"I honestly don't know."

 

"Think. Which do you find yourself turning to? Which one gives you solace?"

 

"Well, water, I suppose" she laughed. "But that's not...I mean, it  _ is  _ an element, but it couldn't be my Affinity. You can't control it!"

 

"Why not?" Neloth said, lazily raising an eyebrow.

 

Imogen faltered. "Well...you just can't!  You can freeze it and manipulate it then, but in its fluid state..."

 

Snatching up the book, Neloth stood up. "Believe what you will, but just know it's wrong."

 

As he walked passed her, he tapped her head with the journal. “Hurry up and finish eating; we have more work to do.”

 

~.~

 

After their meal, Imogen had protested against any more experiments. Her argument stood that she had helped him accrue enough information for one day and that he needed to hold his end of the bargain and help her with her project. However, no matter how much she frowned and huffed, Neloth wouldn’t budge. His argument was that there wouldn’t be much for him to help with that day anyway, that researching the Tear’m would take time and resources. Imogen countered and claimed that if it was going to take so much time, shouldn’t they get started right away? This caused Neloth to roll his eyes and he told her she would have to wait if she wanted his assistance. 

 

At one point, Arara came up to clean up from lunch. As she cleaned, she listened to them argue, shaking her head and clicking her tongue. Tray in her hands, she glided through the lab to head back down. 

 

“Do as he says, Imperial,” Arara advised as she passed them. “Master Neloth may be inexplicably cruel, but he is true to his word.”

 

It wasn’t the advice Imogen wanted to hear, but she sighed and listened to the old woman. After all, the Dunmer had worked for Neloth for many years; wouldn’t she know best?

 

So, against her better wishes, Imogen resumed her duty as a lab skeever. Neloth didn’t do any more physical experiments. He mostly bombarded her with questions about her Vampirism. She mentioned some of her physical abnormalities, like her erratic heartbeat and her shallow breathing. She also told him about the cold. 

 

“When I first turned,” Imogen started, shuddering at the very thought. “When I realized I wasn’t dead, I could see my breath. I remember feeling very cold, and it lasted for quite a few days. I asked Qua...I found out that Vampires don’t retain heat very well.”

 

“Then why fear the sun?” Neloth posed. 

 

Imogen smiled. “It is strange, isn’t it? We’re not really sure why the sun harms us. Maybe we’re like ice. The sun warms us, but it’s too much for our skin to handle and we melt.”

 

“Does fire have the same effect? Or how about wrapping yourself in a blanket?”

 

She shook her head. “No, they don’t hurt. Well, I mean yes, if you set me on fire, it will hurt me very much. But I can stand near a fire and it won’t harm me.”

 

Once he finished writing, Neloth snapped the book shut. “You’ve given me much to ponder. But I’m bored of you. Go away now. Come back tomorrow.”

 

Imogen flinched. “Wh-what?”

 

He flitted over to a table and started rooting through a sack of soul gems. “I said leave. We’re done for the day.”

 

“But…?” While Imogen was relieved she didn’t have to be a test subject for the rest of the day, she was taken aback. All morning, Neloth had been prodding her for answers and even literally prodding her with needles and knives. Just seconds ago, he was harassing her for answers. And now? 

 

Imogen stood there, watching him work. When the minutes passed, Imogen realized he was fixated on whatever he was busying himself well. She sighed. 

 

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she murmured as she headed back down to the main level. 

 

As Imogen dejectedly walked down the steps back to the town, she could see Mirihesa working at her stand. The Dunmer had quite a few customers, but she was able to bounce from person to person, making sure everyone got what they wanted. Even as she worked, Mirihesa seemed angry, not a look Imogen thought becoming of a merchant. But Mirihesa’s clientele didn’t seem to mind. In fact, they turned up their noses as high as Mirihesa did. 

 

_ Does anybody in this town like anybody else? _ Imogen wondered.

 

She stood at the base of the tower, watching the citizens mull about their business.  Imogen was not used to a place like Morrowind, a place where almost everyone was the same race. Every person she saw in Sadrith Mora, save the slaves, was a Dunmer. As Imogen watched them, she wondered if it was really different from home. While in Cheydinhal, Imogen encountered many a Dunmer. And when she lived in the city, most of the citizens were of Imperial race. Why was it now, when she was surrounded by Dunmer, that she thought seeing a majority odd? The answer came swiftly; because she was no longer a part of that majority. 

 

Biting her lip, Imogen took a step toward the food stalls. Mirihesa’s eyes snapped to Imogen's location as if Imogen had made the most repulsive noise. Scowling, the merchant twisted her head away. Taking the hint, Imogen decided not to visit the marketplace and headed for her lean-to, the only place she felt accepted.

 

~.~

 

Returning to Neloth’s tower the following day, Imogen was met by unsettling news. 

 

"Master Neloth does not wish to see you today.”

 

Imogen stared at Arara, confusion plastered on her face. "But why?"

 

Arara sighed. "He’s close to a breakthrough or something. I don't really know the details. All I know is that he doesn't wish to be disturbed."

 

Frowning, Imogen couldn't help but feel a bit insulted. But she would worry about that later. Now she had to figure out what to do with this rest of her day. 

 

As if reading her mind, Arara smirked. "If you're bored, I could use some help."

 

"Oh?" Imogen hummed, still a tad dejected. 

 

"I need some sload soap. I use it to make an ointment for Master Neloth’s joints. He's unbearable when his joints start acting up."

 

Despite her foul mood, Imogen chuckled. "Consider it done. Where should I look?"

 

The old woman headed for the kitchen."I'm not sure. Ask Mirihesa to help you."

 

Imogen tensed. "But she-"

 

"-hates you?" Arara interrupted. "Perhaps, but if you tell her it's for Master Neloth, she will do it."

 

Before Imogen could protest further, Arara started humming and going about her chores. She had half a mind to go up to Neloth’s laboratory and demand that he hold up his side of the bargain. Yet, as she imagined herself doing so, she recalled how he had held her above the chasm and how easily he found pushing Mirihesa down the hole. No, she decided it just wasn’t worth it. 

 

But was asking Mirihesa for a favor any safer? Imogen didn’t know the answer to that question, so she realized she was going to have to do what she always did when she wanted answers.

 

She was going to have to investigate. 


	10. Augury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two: Outlander in Outlandish Territory  
> In which Imogen decides to travel to Morrowind to seek the help of the Telvanni to research the Tear'm Ouada and gets more than she bargained for.

"By Malacath, what is it going to take to get you to leave me alone?"

As Imogen stood off to the side, hands folded in front of her, Mirihesa flitted from stall to stall, ledger in hand. Since it was still early in the morning, the merchant was tallying her wares, seeing what seemed popular enough for people to purchase and what she still had an abundance of. Besides her comment, she paid no attention to Imogen, not even to glare at her. 

Imogen watched the girl count the strange array of fruit in the stands. It reminded Imogen of her days in the Arcane library, sorting books, making sure everything was in its proper place. Caught in the memory, Imogen couldn't believe that she had only just left college life two months ago. 

After a handful of minutes passed, Mirihesa spared a glance at Imogen. "Why aren't you saying anything?"

"Oh," Imogen smiled. "I didn't want to make you lose count."

Mirihesa blinked before shaking her head. "Just...tell me what you are doing here? Why are you bothering me?"

Imogen took a step forward, testing the boundaries. "Well, Miss Uvulas wanted me to find sload soap, and she said you could help me."

Slumping over one of the stands, eyes fixated on the fruit, Mirihesa let out a long, drawn-out sigh, but she said nothing. The way she stared at the fruit, one would have thought the food had done her some wrong. She gripped the edges on the stall, leaning more weight against it. As the seconds passed, Imogen shifted on her feet, unsure of what to do.

With a grunt, Mirihesa suddenly pushed away from the stand and jerked towards Imogen. "Fine," Mirihesa barked. "Fine. You want to play this game, then fine. We'll play. We'll go on this quest together. We'll get the sload soap for Master Neloth and become the greatest of allies as we find common ground to stand on."

She started stomping away, slamming her docket down on the ground. As she passed Imogen, the Imperial jumped away and watched her pass. Imogen stammered, trying explain the situation, but was so hung up on Mirihesa’s words that she just shut her mouth and scurried to keep up with the Dunmer.

It seemed to Imogen that Mirihesa was on a mission, for the girl swiftly made her way out of the town. "W-we didn't have to do this now," Imogen studdered. "I mean, if you're busy..."

The Dunmer kept her mouth in a straight line as they passed Imogen's lean-to. Mirihesa glanced at it as the walked by, but still, she said nothing. Sighing, Imogen fell in line with her angry companion. With a frown, she couldn't help but wonder if Arara had done this on purpose.

~.~  
The further the two got from Sadrith Mora, the more anxious Imogen got. Traveling didn’t make her nervous, not after all the traveling she had done in her life. But she was still used to Cyrodiil. She was used to traveling in a place where she knew her up from down. If Imogen needed to visit another city to collect a book or consult with another mage, she could figure out the best route there and travel with confidence. 

But Imogen wasn’t in Cyrodiil anymore. No, she was in this strange land she couldn’t quite fathom. She had only been in Morrowind for a few days, but Imogen already felt like she would never understand how the providence functioned. Everything seemed strange and unfamiliar to her, even herself! It was like crossing into a sort of mirror world for Imogen; everything seemed backward to her. 

Yet, as she and Mirihesa traversed the mushroom forest, Imogen couldn’t help but admire Morrowind’s beauty. Strange or not, she had to admit that it had its own special charm. 

Imogen felt like Morrowind and Cyrodiil were night and day, and she felt that she and Mirihesa were the same. She just wasn’t sure who was what. As they walked, Imogen kept herself occupied by noting the differences between her and the Dunmer. That was one, their heritage, as clear as day. But there were many others. Imogen’s skin, for instance, had grown quite pale over the years. She did her best to stay in the sun occasionally to keep a healthy tan on her skin, but no matter how hard she tried, her skin would always look discolored. Mirihesa, meanwhile, had grey skin, almost the color of unpolished steel, but it had a slight hint of blue to it that glowed in certain lights. Imogen’s long, brown hair was thick and fastened in a braid with a green ribbon today, and Mirihesa’s cerulean hair was short, barely touching her shoulders, but she was still able to fix it on a bun that rested at the base of her skull. Imogen’s eyes were the color of the sky on a clear, summer day, and Mirihesa’s eyes were the color of the sky just at twilight. 

The two dressed differently as well, though Imogen really only had herself to blame for that. Once it had dried, Imogen had slipped into her mourning gown again, black, long-sleeved with lace along the collar and skirting. Though it still looked lovely, the dress was showing the obvious wear and tear from years of overuse. A dress like that was not meant to be worn for so long. Mirihesa appeared dressed more appropriately for trekking around Morrowind. The Dunmer wore dark brown britches and beige tights underneath. Her shirt was an off-white, long-sleeved button-up, and she covered this with a maroon vest. 

To see the two walking together was interesting to say the least.

Imogen noted that, while definitely sophisticated looking, Mirihesa was not as gaudily dressed as some of the other inhabitants of Sadrith Mora. Master Neloth wore exquisite robes of oranges, yellows, and browns, bright and bold. Even Arara seemed to favor extravagant colors which stood out to Imogen’s mourning apparel. Mirihesa’s garb seemed more tamed. 

They had been walking together for about an hour in silence when Mirihesa grunted. “Would you quit staring at me like that, outlander? You’re giving me chills.”

Imogen offered a smile. “Sorry, I was just...well, I guess studying you.”

Mirihesa snorted. “Studying me? What a boring topic you could have picked.”

Before Imogen could ask, Mirihesa waved her off. “Forget it,” she added. “Why are you studying me?”

Shrugging, Imogen looked forward, away from the Dunmer. “I’m not quite sure how to explain it. I guess I was just trying to figure you out as a person, is all. I suppose that sounds rather rude, doesn’t it?”

Mirihesa mirrored the shrug. “Not really. It’s what everyone does. Most people just don’t admit to it,” She peeked at Imogen from the corner of her eyes. “Why are you dressed always in black?”

A harsh sigh came from Imogen, though she quickly countered it with a smile. One of the things she liked about Morrowind was how no one had asked her why she was in mourning and who had died. She wondered how long it would have lasted. 

“I’m in mourning,” she answered. “My mother died.”

Mirihesa raised a brow. “So you wear black?”

“Well, yes,” Imogen widened her eyes a bit. “Do people in Morrowind not wear black to symbolize mourning?”

“No,” Mirihesa said sharply but without malice. “We honor our dead, not mourn them.”

The statement caused Imogen to frown, and as she concentrated on the path ahead of her, she gripped at the skirt of her dress. “What do you mean?”

Mirihesa’s eyes watched Imogen’s hands. “The dead do not leave us,” she explained. “Each family has a room dedicated to our ancestors. We keep them with us always.

“But your kind finds this barbaric,” Mirihesa added with a hiss. “They think us nothing more than animals the way we ‘display’ our dead like furniture. But they don’t understand it. You would rather bury your dead deep into the soil than to ever see them again.”

“Death is hard,” Imogen murmured. “I don’t know how I would feel if I had to see her corpse every single day for the rest of my life.”

The two fell silent again, eyes to themselves. Imogen found herself fidgeting, trying to think of something to say. Normally, Imogen didn’t mind silence. She liked having quiet time to think and plan, but the more the silence lingered between the two of them, the more uncomfortable Imogen felt. Maybe it was because Mirihesa seemed to hate Imogen. Maybe the silence felt hostile to Imogen, and she wanted to fix whatever rift was between them. Whatever the reason was, Imogen bit her lip, before trying to start the conversation back up again.

“Where are we headed anyway?” she finally blurted out. 

“The port,” Mirihesa said. “We need to sail to Tel Aruhn. There’s an apothecary there who sells sload soap.”

“Tel Aruhn?”

Mirihesa sighed. “It’s where the Archmagister lives. He’s like the...head of House Telvanni. Telvanni wizards live in mushroom towers. His is called Tel Aruhn.” She scowled. “We’re not going to see him though.”

Trying to ignore Mirihesa’s sour mood, Imogen asked, “What does Master Neloth call his tower?”

The Dunmer flicked her head in Imogen’s direction, the scowl replaced with a frown of confusion as if she was caught off guard by Imogen’s question. “Tel Naga,” she replied.

Imogen nodded. “That sounds nice, but...I feel like it doesn’t fit him.”

Turning away, Mirihesa shrugged. “Whatever. Just...be quiet. I don’t want to hear your voice anymore.”

Though hurt from the comment, Imogen shut her mouth and did as Mirihesa asked. In fact, Imogen was sort of thankful for it; despite wanting to break the silence, Imogen was finding it difficult to keep the conversation going. 

After another thirty minutes of hiking, the girls finally reached the dock. The ride over to Tel Aruhn cost about twenty septims for each rider. Imogen dug into her bag to pay for her fare, but Mirihesa bought them both passage before Imogen could get her money out. She tried to say something, even just utter a single thank you, but she remembered that she promised to keep quiet, so quiet she remained. 

The boat had a few other Dunmer. Everyone had to stand on the raft, but the trip was not to last long. Imogen could see the island they were heading for in the distance. She wondered how long it would take for someone to swim there, but the water looked cloudy, and who knew what was lurking in it?

Nobody said a word as the raft carried them. Everyone seemed to be lost in their own heads, ignoring one another. Even those who were traveling together kept to themselves. Imogen wondered if this was just how Dunmers were. She thought back to the Dunmer family she had traveled from Cyrodiil with. Looking back, they did mostly keep to themselves, speaking to Imogen only occasionally as they traveled. Yes, perhaps it was just a Dunmer thing. 

By the time the sun was at its zenith, the raft docked. One by one, the riders disembarked and went their separate ways, which happened to be the in the same direction for each person. Though they were all heading to the same place, they all seemed to travel alone. Imogen hopped off the boat before Mirihesa, and she waited to the side as everyone passed for the merchant to get off. Once they were both on solid ground, Mirihesa led the way once more, Imogen quick at her heels. 

Master Neloth’s Tel Naga had impressed Imogen when she first saw it. Though the tower was still an impressive feat of magical ingenuity, Tel Aruhn almost took Imogen’s breath away. She gazed up at it as it twisted up high into the sky. Imogen felt her mouth fall open and she didn’t care how silly she looked (though she did cover it with her hand, a habit she had to hide her teeth from prying eyes). 

Eventually, Mirihesa grabbed Imogen by the arm and led them to the apothecary she had mentioned. Imogen’s chest tightened as she kept her eyes on the tower. Oh, she wished so much to see what it was like inside. She wanted to climb to the very top of the tower and see what Morrowind looked like from so high. 

A sudden pang shook her. The tower reminded her of the Imperial City. Looks like she was right; the Imperial Tower would follow her no matter where she went. 

They entered the shop of Bildren Areleth, the apothecary. The alchemist was busy mixing ingredients when the two girls arrived. He glanced at them before returning to his business. Imogen thought it was going to be a repeat of meeting Master Neloth when suddenly Bildren whipped himself back around. 

“Little Miri, is that you?” Bildren asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. For a moment, Imogen smiled, thinking it to be a happy reunion, but when Mirihesa’s face darkened as her arms go rigid by her side, Imogen’s smile quickly faded.

“I’m just here to do business,” Mirihesa hissed.

Bildren chuckled, sauntered languidly to the girls. “Oh? Are you now? Oh, don’t tell me; you’re still doing Neloth’s dirty work, aren’t you?”

As Mirihesa gritted her teeth, Imogen quickly broke her oath of silence and interjected. “We’d like to purchase some sload soap, if you will.”

The alchemist’s eyes flitted over to Imogen. “And what is this? His little pet?”

You’re not that far off the mark, Imogen thought as she gave a polite smile. “Please, sir, we’re on a bit of a schedule.”

“My, how polite,” Bildren mocked.

With a growl, Mirihesa gnashed her teeth together. “Just give us the stupid sload soap, you insufferable, pompous-” 

Bildren tsked, wagging his finger at her as if she was nothing more than a child. “Watch what you say. Neloth isn’t here to save you again, remember.”

Mirihesa threw her hands up, huffing, but Bildren’s amused look made her take a deep breath and set her jaw. “Yes,” she seethed. “I remember.”

Smirking, Bildren rummaged through her wares, searching for the sload soap. He glanced at Imogen. “You do know why she’s so angry, don’t you?”

“Be quiet!” Mirihesa barked, but the demand only made Bildren laugh.

“She’s mad because she can barely cast a spell,” Bildren continued. “Isn’t that a laugh? A Telvanni who can’t use magic!”

Noting the murder written in Mirihesa’s eyes, Imogen furrowed her brows at the man. “I’m sorry, but I don’t find that nearly as funny as you do. You’re obviously causing her distress; you should be ashamed of yourself for preying on her like that.”

He slammed his hands against the counter, looming over Imogen. Her muscles tightened, bracing herself for him to attack her. He didn’t, though his eyes certainly did. 

“Listen, outlander, it isn’t very advisable to tell me what I should be ashamed of. If you don’t like it, I advise you to leave, not only my shop but Vvardenfell altogether.”

Mirihesa pushed Imogen aside and glared at Bildren. “Just sell me the stupid sload soap,” she sighed defeatedly. 

Backing down, Bildren said nodded. “Yes, very well. Fifty drakes.”

Scowling, Mirihesa started to say something, but she quickly snapped her mouth shut, handed over the money, took the soap, and stomped out of the store. The transaction happened so quickly that Imogen was left blinking.

Bildren smirked at her. “You should keep a tight leash on that girl,” He said. “She has such a temper; I’d bet anything she’ll start a fight with the wrong mage one day. It’s a wonder why Neloth still keeps her around.”

Imogen’s mouth was a thin line across her face. “It obviously means she has value,” she retorted before leaving the store. 

~.~

During their journey back to Sadrith Mora, Imogen did Mirihesa a favor and kept quiet. Despite desperately wanting to ask the Dunmer about what happened, she could tell the subject was a sensitive topic, so she knew to keep quiet. 

Their journey to Sadrith Mora was quiet and uneventful. They quickly returned to Arara with the soap. The woman thanked them and paid them for their trouble. Still caught up on how Mirihesa had paid for everything, Imogen held her money to the girl, but Mirihesa scowled and stormed away. Frowning, Imogen was worried she widened the rift between them. Maybe Mirihesa thought the gesture one of pity instead of recompense? 

It was about five days later that Master Neloth was finally available for Imogen to meet with. In that time, Imogen mostly kept to herself, reading and sleeping in her lean-to. She was afraid that returning to Sadrith Mora would cause more trouble. But on that fifth day, Mirihesa kicked the Imperial awake, told her that Neloth wanted to see her, and then quickly left. Groggy and a bit confused, Imogen got herself ready for the day and headed for Tel Naga. 

As she gently landed on the upper floor, she was greeted by piles of books. Some were quite old looking, so frail that Imogen was afraid she was going to damage them with just her eyes. 

Per usual, Neloth was busying himself at a table, working on something Imogen could not identify. She contemplated interrupting him -after all, he had summoned her there- but she decided to wait. Neloth seemed completely immersed in whatever it was he was working on, and Imogen feared not only disturbing him but angering him as well. As eager as she was to see what the day held, images of being held upside-down floated across her eyes. 

Neloth muttered as he worked, though Imogen couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. His sentences were disjointed; he’d start one sentence and finish it with the ending of another. As she crept closer to him, Imogen smiled to herself, amused by his disorganized ramblings. She hugged herself, inclining her head to the side as she watched him. 

After a few minutes, Imogen crept even closer, until she was standing next to the table. Neloth glanced up at her, still tinkering with the ingredients in front of him. “I was beginning to wonder when you were going to say something,” he commented. 

“You knew I was here the whole time?”

“Of course.”

Imogen sighed. “Then why didn’t you say something?”

Neloth held the vial close to his face, checking the measurement. “Why didn’t you?” 

She chose to ignore his question and pointed to the vial he was holding. “What is that anyway?”

He swirled the vial, stirring the purple liquid inside. “It’s a modified health elixir. I’ve mixed in a very potent stamina potion and a touch of a magicka one as well.”

Imogen frowned. “Haven’t people done that before? I believe I remember reading about it when I was at the University. The mixture didn’t go over so well.”

Snorting, Neloth placed the vial on the table and added a pinch of some sort of flower to it. “Yes, but those people weren’t me. I’ve added a few different ingredients to the concoction. Perhaps they’ll have the effect I’m seeking.”

There was a long pause as Neloth add a different plant to the mix. Imogen pursed her lips and shifted on her feet. “Well...what is the desired effect?”

“Immortality.” 

Imogen was very still, her expression the same as before he had so bluntly answered her. “...oh?”

“It’s something I’ve been working on for some time now,” he explained as if it wasn’t a big deal. “You see, the average Dunmer lives for about 200 or so years. Those who are magically inclined tend to live much longer, another 100 or so years, depending on how good they are with their magic.”

“Why does using magic help?” Imogen interrupted.

Neloth’s eyes hooded over, one twitching slightly. “I was getting to that,” he barked, picking out the journal next to him (different from the one he used when studying her, she noted) and bopped her on the head with it. She yelped and quickly pressed her hands against the tender area. 

“In order for a person to use magic,” Neloth continued as if she hadn’t interrupted. “That person must tap into the Magicka stream.”

Rubbing her head, Imogen nodded. “Yes, they taught me that when I was first studying magic.”

Neloth slowly blinked at her. When he tapped the book against the table, Imogen pressed her lips tightly together. She even brought her fingers to her mouth and pantomimed buttoning them. This, of course, was her mistake, as it gave Neloth the opportunity to bop her with the book in the exact same spot, slightly harder than before. Imogen stifled a cry, clenching her jaw.

“Since using magic requires a connection to the magicka stream,” Neloth continued, speaking much more forcibly than before. “When one uses magic, they are then connected to that stream.”

He paused, tongue-in-cheek, waiting for Imogen to interrupt again. She kept her lips sealed tightly. When he was convinced she was going to keep quiet, he pressed on.

“Every living being on Nirn is partially connected to the stream,” he said, his voice slightly calmer. “But some have a stronger connection than others. Obviously, Man and Mer have a stronger tie to the stream than animals do, and Mer more so than Man. That bond is one theory why Mer live much longer than Humans do, though there is much more to it than that. But yes, that connection helps keep us alive.

“Every time a person uses magic, they are connecting themselves to Nirn’s life stream, the very force that keeps Nirn alive. We ‘borrow’ from it, so to speak. Magicka cannot be used up; once a person is done casting a spell, the magicka they used returns to the life stream, much like how rainwater flows into a river.”

Keeping quiet, Imogen lay her elbows against the table, nestling her head between her hands. Neloth’s speech sounded much like a professor at the University, but the tone he took was much more lyrical. One could hear how much he truly believed in what he was saying, like how a benevolent preacher might give a sermon. 

Picking up the vial once more, swirling it around again, Neloth continued. “It would only make sense that the more one used Magicka, the longer one was inclined to live. They would keep borrowing life from the life stream.”

The elixir turned a dark brown color, something that didn’t bode well with Imogen. There were a few seconds of silence as Neloth sniffed the liquid. He frowned but shrugged and recorded his findings in his book. When enough time had passed, Imogen felt it safe to ask, “Why can some people use magic and others can’t?”

He dipped his pinky into the elixir and held it to Imogen. “Taste it.”

She flinched. “What? No! Why?”

“Because,” he pressed, still holding out his finger to her. “You are already immortal; I don’t want to test it out on myself yet until I know its reaction to another living being. But since you’re immortal, you shall act as a control group.”

Imogen straightened her back and pressed her palms to her hips. “And what if is doesn’t actually make someone immortal but has some other effect instead?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re just sampling it; it wouldn’t be enough to have an effect on you. I want to know what it tastes like.”

“Then why do I have to taste it at all?!”

He stared at her. "Just do it."

Huffing, Imogen pushed his hand aside. “Fine, but I’m not tasting it off your finger. That’s odd, and you’re odd for even suggesting it.”

The brown liquid did not look like it would taste good in any sense of the word. But there was really only one way to find out. She dipped her finger into the mixture and lapped up a droplet of it. Smacking her lips together, she shrugged.

“It sort of reminds me of almonds,” she admitted. 

Without hesitation, Neloth took up the vial and started walking away. “Don’t drink that,” he stated as he poured it into a bucket. A sense of disappointment crossed his face, though Imogen wasn’t quite sure why. She figured the potion was a failure, but she wasn’t sure how he knew so quickly. 

“Anyway,” Neloth said, returning to the table and writing his findings in the journal. “To address your question from earlier, you are speaking of Mirihesa, aren’t you.”

Even though she had only asked her question moments ago, it took Imogen a second to remember what they were talking about. Though she had Mirihesa in mind when she asked, she really was just curious about it in general. 

Neloth didn’t wait for an answer. “Arara might not want to talk about it,” he started, clearing the table of the ingredients he had been working with. “But I have no qualms about it. Like any living thing on Nirn, Mirihesa has a connection to the magicka stream, but she fails to use it. Not from a lack of trying, mind you. She has tried many times before. But she lacks...what’s the word I’m looking for...drive? No, that isn’t quite it.

“What I mean is that she blocks herself from it, mentally. Not on purpose though. She doesn’t realize she’s blocking it.”

As he spoke, he gestured widely with his arms as he searched for how to explain it. Imogen tilted her head. “Do you mean to say she can’t use it because doesn’t want to use it?” 

He shook his head. “No, she wants to use it. But, she doesn’t think she can. That self-doubt is what is holding her back.

“Magic is finicky,” he added. “If you don’t believe you can use it, you never will.”

The table now cleared, Master Neloth replaced the book he was previously writing in with the journal he had been using while studying Imogen. Imogen took this as a sign that he wanted to get started, but she was still hung up on their conversation.

"You never finished telling me why you were exploring immortality," she mentioned.

Before she said that, Neloth had been flipping through the book, but he quickly snapped it shut. "That's because you kept interrupting me," he said, swiftly smacking her in the head with the book. In an act of mercy, he smacked her on the side of her head, the left side, rather than in the previous spot. 

Neloth sat down on the stool beside the table. "As I was saying before, Dunmer, especially Dunmer mages, live for much longer than a Human would. But I am already 336 years old. What good will just another century do me? I want to be guaranteed I'll live beyond that. There is too much left for me to discover; I don't particularly wish to shove off this mortal coil just yet."

With a mischievous glint, he eyed her."I don't suppose you can turn me, can you?"

Quickly, Imogen shook her head. "Qua...I mean, vampires can't do that until they've been alive for at least a hundred years or so."

Neloth nodded. "I figured it wouldn't be that easy. Now, who or what is this 'Qua' you keep slipping out and then quickly correcting yourself as if I didn't notice? Hm?"

Cursing her for her slip of tongue, Imogen sat down on the stool next to him. "Quaril. His name is Quaril. He's a vampire as well. When I first turned, he took me in and explained a few things to me."

The journal was now open, and Neloth was taking note once again. As the pencil scratched the page, Imogen couldn’t help but reflect on Neloth’s goal of eternal life. When she first realized what she had become, the last thing she wanted was to live. Often, the thought of continuous life fluttered across her mind. She was a girl trapped at 22 when she should well be in her thirties.

Deep in musings, Imogen muttered, "But am I immortal?"

The pencil scratching paused. Neloth dragged his eyes upwards, arching an eyebrow at Imogen. But Imogen didn't take notice.

"When you think about it," she continued, more to herself than to Neloth. "How do we know vampires are immortal? Immortality is defined as living forever, but how can we know if one lives forever? Someone could live thousands of years, and to us, they would appear immortal, but what if that person eventually died? I might live for a long time, but just be years away from my death."

Her eyes snapped to Neloth as if she suddenly remembered he was there. "Does that make sense? " She asked.

He twirled the pencil around his fingers and nodded in contemplation. Though he said nothing, evident signs of him listening to her ramblings were etched on his face. It was an interesting thought, convoluted and baseless, but it brought up valid concerns. What defined immortality? How long was forever? 

There was a gap of silence between them, each lost in their own thoughts. As Imogen contemplated her long lifespan, Neloth flipped through the journal, rereading his earlier notes. 

"You mentioned something about bizarre breathing patterns?" He asked.

Imogen nodded. "I still breathe, but much shallower, and not as frequently."

Another quiet moment passed before Neloth’s lips slowly curled. 

"I think it's time for another experiment."


	11. Venatic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two: Outlander in Outlandish Territory  
> In which Imogen decides to travel to Morrowind to seek the help of the Telvanni to research the Tear'm Ouada and gets more than she bargained for.

Even though giving Neloth the blood sample wasn't the end of the world, Imogen was instantly on guard when the word "experiment" passed Neloth’s lips. She swore that she wasn't going to partake in any experiment until he told her what they were doing, and she still had to approve of it. Instead of explaining, Neloth wrapped Imogen's braid around one hand and dragged her out of the tower. The poor girl protested and dug her heels into the ground, but Neloth was persistent.

He led her out of the town and to the coastline. Though the sight of the sea filled her with awe, despite how many times she had been on a waterfront, the dull pain from Neloth’s tugging reminded her that she was supposed to be angry at him. But they didn't stop moving. Neloth dragged her onto the beach and stepped into the cold water without missing a beat. Imogen's eyes widened as they waded deeper into the water. When they were surrounded by water up to her chest, Imogen gave one last tug to break free from Neloth’s grip. Either she was able to bring summon strength she didn't possess earlier or Neloth didn't feel like fighting her anymore, but either way, Imogen wiggled free.

"What are you doing?!" She demanded, slamming her fist against the water. "I do not appreciate being dragged around like that!"

With a bored expression, Neloth placed a hand on top of Imogen's head. "Take a deep breath," he clucked. 

Before she could even utter a sound, Neloth pressed down on Imogen's skull and dunked her into the water. As the water rushed loudly around her head, she thrashed about wildly, air rushing out of her nose. After a few seconds of struggle, Neloth’s fingers latched onto her hair and pulled her head out of the water.

While Imogen panted, teeth bared and eyes narrowed, Neloth commented, "You didn't take a breath."

"Are you kidding me?!" Imogen yelled.

"It was pretty obvious you didn't."

She seethed. "What are you doing? Explain, now!" 

Neloth sighed. "I want to see just how long you can go without breathing. To get an accurate result, I need to put you through a situation in which you have no choice but to not breathe."

Grinding her teeth, Imogen jerked out of Neloth’s grip. "What part. Of our deal. Did you not understand?"

He shrugged. “You’re still alive, aren't you?”

With a growl, Imogen slammed her fists down on the water again, the spray soaking both of them. “YOU. NEED. TO TELL. ME. WHAT. YOU. ARE. DOING. FIRST.” She shrieked, slapping the water with each word. 

Neloth waited for her tantrum to dissipate. Once Imogen was finished abusing the sea for Neloth’s crimes, he crossed his arms. “Are you quite finished yet?”

Her muscles tensed. How dare he! Telvanni Wizard or not, Imogen was furious. Without thinking, Imogen took a step back and began waving her hands above the water. Neloth cocked a brow but said nothing. Imogen’s fingers spread out as she tensed them into a claw-like fashion. Neloth watched as Imogen’s breath danced around her like lace. In a swift movement, she thrust her hands downwards. The water surrounding Neloth stood still for a moment. A quiet cracking could be heard as the water slowly turned to ice. From Neloth’s waist down, the water within a foot around him froze.

Neloth glanced at the ice around him. He said nothing but did incline his head to the side and flashed his brows. The two of them remained motionless as Imogen tossed an idea around. 

With a deep breath, the lacework still trailing from her mouth, Imogen flicked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “We'll do this experiment, but it is under my terms. I'll stay under, but the very minute you see bubbles, you pull me back up. The first time I go under, you pull me back up after two minutes, no matter what, to make sure I haven't passed out or anything. After that, we'll proceed accordingly.”

Neloth scratched his chin -as his hands were above the water and therefore free- and opened his mouth as if to argue, but he just shrugged. “Very well,” he said. As he placed his hand on the top of her head, the cracking sound returned. Steam rose from the ice and began to melt around him. Imogen flinched slightly as the temperature of the water rose and the water around Neloth began to boil. Before she could worry about how hot the sea around her was about to get, the boiling stopped and the water settled. 

“Ready?” Neloth teased.

A curt breath of air escaped Imogen’s nose. She nodded once before taking a deep breath and lowered herself into the water. When she was submerged, she felt the pressure of Neloth’s hand holding her in place. The very thought of drowning caused her to try to stand, but Neloth pushed her down. She tensed; despite her love of the water, she never learned how to swim. She had always longed to float on her back down a lazy stream, but she couldn’t help but fear capsizing. Now, being held against her will, Imogen was afraid her company would betray her in the end. 

Knowing that panic would make the situation worse, Imogen concentrated on the sensations around her. Being underwater was odd. She could hear the water though it didn’t make a sound; she could feel the water caress her skin, dancing around her, but it also felt like nothing was there. An image of her mother flashed before her eyes. Once, her mother offered to teach Imogen how to swim. Her skirt rolled up passed her knees, Emilia Fidele waded in the sea outside the Imperial City her arm extended to a little Imogen. The little girl stood very still on the shore pouting, her hands clenching her own skirt as she shook her head multiple times. Emilia chuckled, telling the girl she had nothing to fear. 

Before she could finish the memory, Imogen felt a sharp tug from her scalp. She surfaced, Neloth pulling her by the hair, and she suddenly wished she had made not using her hair as a handle part of the deal. 

“Well, you seem to still be alive,” Neloth commented. “How did it feel?”

Imogen exhaled out of habit. “Two minutes passed already?”

Neloth smirked. “So, it appears you could stay under longer. Shall we try again?”

“Give me a minute,” she asked. “Being under the water is...unnerving.”

Neloth gave a small hum of indifference but allowed for the short break. After Imogen composed herself, she nodded at Neloth and took another deep breath. Again, she lowered herself into the water and Neloth held her down in the murky abyss. 

She tried to summon the memory of her mother again. While Imogen wore her mourning gown always to honor her late mother, she didn’t find herself thinking of the woman often, or at least as often as Imogen thought she should. It felt nice, thinking about her mother. 

How did the rest of that memory go? Did she ever give into her mother’s teasing and join her in the sea? Or did little Imogen spend the rest of the day crying in the sand? Or perhaps she ran home, ran because she was afraid of going into the water, and Emilia, laughing quietly at the girl, chased after her, trying to tell the girl that it was all right, that it was okay to be afraid?

Imogen couldn’t remember. In fact, she wasn’t even sure the memory was entirely real. 

Her thoughts shifted to her daily lessons her father made her sit through. Most days, she met with an older woman from some noble family who would teach the young Imperial how to be a lady. But once a week, Leonde would sit down with the girl and teach her himself. This was usually after the small family ate their evening meal together. The two of them would sit at the table, and Leonde would speak of numbers and calculations. With the abacus, he would make his daughter solve simple problems like “If an apple costs 15 septims and you spend 83 septims at the store buying apples and bread, keeping in mind you bought 5 apples, how much must bread cost?” The girl would sit at the table and pout. She hated it! The numbers always went over her head, and it wasn’t very fun, not like running around the city and pretending to be a princess. Leonde would get frustrated when she couldn’t remember her times tables or whenever she had to use her fingers to count. Emilia would have to calm him down whenever Imogen complained about the math and would whine about how she shouldn’t need to learn it. 

“She’s still young,” her mother would say. “She’ll see its use one day.”

And her father would groan and pinch the bridge of his nose. “Yes, and by then, it’ll be too late for her to learn.”

And Emilia would chuckle. “It’s never too late to learn.”

The memory faded as Imogen felt her chest tighten. Confused, she reached for her chest and was surprised to find it difficult to move her arm as quickly as she wanted to. Slowly, she remembered what was happening and where she was.

I’m underwater...and I need to breathe! With that realization, she pushed herself up. At first, she couldn’t move; Neloth’s hand still held her in place. Quickly, she exhaled through her nose, bubbles rushing to surface. Seconds later, Neloth loosened his grip and allowed the girl to emerge from the water.   
As soon as Imogen broke through the sea, she took a deep breath and blinked the water out of her eyes. She took a few more breaths as Neloth studied her. Once Imogen felt like she had air in her lungs once more, her breathing slowed to its usual yet odd irregular pace. 

“How long was I under there?” she stuttered.   
“About nine minutes, give or take a few seconds,” Neloth answered, scratching his chin. “I must say, it was longer than I thought.”

Imogen frowned. “If I can go nine minutes without breathing, why do I still breath somewhat regularly?” 

Heading back to the shore, Neloth shrugged. “Could simply be out of habit. Perhaps in a few centuries, you won’t.”

Imogen was quick at Neloth’s heels, not wanting to spend another minute in the water. She was safe now, but she was afraid that something terrible would happen if she stayed any longer. Neloth reached the shore first, and with a flick of his wrist, a flash of steam evaporated off of him. When it dissipated, he was as dry as a bone. As Imogen stood on the beach wringing out her dress, she couldn’t help but feel jealous and wished she knew how to do that. She didn’t bother to ask him to use that magic on her, and Neloth didn’t bother to offer. 

“I’m returning to Tel Naga to record my findings,” Neloth announced as he began walking back the way they had originally came. “You should make your way back up there soon.”

“I shall,” Imogen replied. “But I wish to change into something dry first.”

Neloth nodded, still walking. “Of course. Oh, and Imogen?”

“Yes?”

Without pausing or turning around, Neloth flicked his wrist in her general direction. Imogen was about to start her journey back to her lean-to, but she suddenly found herself unable to move! A quick assessment led her to the cause; her feet were submerged up to her ankles under the now-hardened sand. To no avail, Imogen tried to pull her legs out. 

Neloth paused and turned his head towards the Imperial. “That’s for trying to encase me in ice,” he smirked and then continued on his way.

“H-Hey, you can’t just leave me like this!” Imogen called out.

“Watch me!” Neloth retorted, sauntering further and further away.

Furrowing her brows, Imogen looked down at her feet once again. Despite the annoyance of the situation, she couldn’t help but admire Neloth’s skill. She had seen people summon rock golems to do their bidding, but she had never witnessed someone actually manipulate rock before. 

What else could the wizard do?

By the time Imogen pulled out her dagger, Neloth could no longer be seen. With a groan, Imogen bent over and started hacking at the rock with her dagger. She frowned and hoped the dagger would break because of this. 

“My, what an interesting predicament you’re in,” a voice chimed. 

Imogen snapped to attention, her hand clutching the dagger. Before her stood a Dunmer woman in Legion uniform. The woman had her hip cocked to the side, simpering at the Imperial. Imogen studied the woman. The aubergine of her hair seemed familiar to Imogen, though she couldn’t place why. When the Dunmer ambled up to Imogen, the Imperial got a good look at her ears. They were rounded like a human’s. 

It’s the halfling from the census bureau, Imogen realized. What is she doing all the way out here?

The woman, Aeryn, brought her face close to Imogen and gazed into her eyes. Imogen leaned back, holding her breath and watching the soldier. Smirking, Aeryn pulled away and began to orbit her. Imogen stood still as Aeryn appraised her like livestock, examining each limb with care. 

“You’re young,” Aeryn mused. “Almost too young.”

Imogen wanted to ask what she was talking about, but the words stuck in her throat. There was something about Aeryn...something that set Imogen on edge. The tugging sensation that brought her where she seemed to need to be was pulling her towards Aeryn, but every time Imogen met Aeryn’s eye, the Imperial would shudder. There was this familiarity that irradiated from Aeryn, like Imogen knew her for a long time, but besides the census bureau, Imogen knew she did not know her. 

“And how convenient,” Aeryn continued, stopping in front of Imogen. “That you’re so snuggly secured.” 

Placing a hand on the hilt of her sword, Aeryn took a step closer. On guard, Imogen felt herself tense her muscles as if to attack, despite being fused to the ground. 

Before Aeryn could get too close, a stone landed near the two of them. Aeryn paused, cocking a brow at the rock. She turned around. A ways out from the water, at the edge of the beach, Mirihesa stood, arms akimbo. A bored expression on her face, she kept her gaze on Aeryn, but she spoke her words to Imogen. 

“You’re keeping Master Neloth waiting,” she called out, jaw set.

Imogen finally found her voice. “Uh, y-yes! Yes, you’re right!”

Nerves on edge, Imogen summoned her strength and pulled her legs out of the hardened sand. Thanks to her digging, the feat wasn’t difficult, but her legs were sore. Aeryn glanced at her, but she kept her eyes on Mirihesa. Licking her lips, Aeryn shook her head.

“Pardon me,” Imogen stutter to Aeryn, “But I simply must go. Perhaps we can speak again another time?”

Imogen didn’t wait for an answer. She scurried over to where Mirihesa was. As Imogen approached the merchant, Mirihesa started walking away from the beach, but she walked backwards so she could keep her eyes on Aeryn. Once Imogen caught up, Mirihesa turned on her heels and the two girls took off.

Neither girl spoke as they returned to Sadrith Mora, though Imogen was thankful for the solitude. She could feel her body shaking. The whole situation reminded her of the night Quaril took her hunting. She remembered how it felt hunting that fawn. How it felt getting closer to the fawn, picturing its blood cascading over its tan hide. How Aeryn made her feel reminded her of that night.

Except this time, Imogen felt like the fawn. 

As they reached the main road, Mirihesa stopped and Imogen mirrored her. To the right lay Sadrith Mora; to the left was Imogen’s lean-to. At first, the two looked towards their homes, but they eventually turned their attention to each other. 

Imogen took a breath. “Thank you.”

Shrugging, Mirihesa looked away. “I don’t trust Imperial soldiers. They’re always up to no good.”

As much as Imogen begged to differ, she knew now wasn’t the time. Instead, she nodded, but then she frowned. “How did you know I was there?”

Clenching her jaw, Mirihesa scratched the back of her neck. “W-well, I...when you and Master Neloth took off for the sea like that…”

Imogen tilted her head and tried to bite back a smile. “Did you follow us?”

With a scowl, Mirihesa threw her hands up and swore before turning on her heels and stomping away to Sadrith Mora. Despite still feeling anxious, Imogen softly chuckled before heading to her lean-to to change out of her wet clothes. 

~.~

When Imogen reached Neloth’s laboratory, she found the man at his favorite lab table with his mortar and pestle, grinding ingredients for what would be, undoubtedly, his next attempt at eternal life. The piles of books were where she left them, though after all that had happened that day, Imogen completely forgot about them. 

Without sparing the girl a glance, Neloth lazily waved a hand towards the piles. “Enjoy,” he murmured as he sniffed at the concoction he was mixing. 

Imogen crouched down between the two piles. Each one had at least 10 to 15 books, and many looked old and worn. Some were leather bound while others were simple cloth stitched together. Some had names etched on the covers while others remained nameless. 

“What are these?” Imogen asked, looking over at Neloth. 

“They all mention the Tear’m,” Neloth replied, adding a pinch of blisterwort to the vial.

The answer was so blunt and unexpected that Imogen almost tumbled over. She was able to steady herself, and she was about to parrot the explanation, but she realized that Neloth would either just ignore her or mock her for it.

“Where did they all come from?” she asked, tracing the lettering on one of the covers. 

Neloth gestured vaguely with his hands. “Some were books I had in my collection. Others I had Mirihesa collect for me. I have many connections in Morrowind and knew just who to ask.” 

Imogen tilted her head and furrowed her brows. “Mirihesa brought these?”

He nodded. “Don’t be so surprised; I had told her to do it.”

Eyes dancing over the books, Imogen felt her chest swell. She was pulled back to the University, pouring over literature in search of knowledge and higher understanding. Except this time, she was hunting for her own project, not some lofty mage. 

Before she dove into the tomes, she smiled at Neloth. “Thank you,” she said. 

Neloth snapped his head in her direction. “Never thank someone for doing what they were supposed to do. I had promised to help you research the Tear’m, and I held up my part of the bargain.” 

As Imogen stared at him, confusion plastered on her face, Neloth turned his attention back to his potion. Without another word, Imogen sat down on the floor and picked a book to start digging. 

The two of them poured over their own projects, each engrossed in their own tasks. At first, she was trying to be careful, handling each book with care. By the second hour, she had given up and started making piles of books with information she already knew, and books that appeared to offer her something new. She started arranging them by subject, trying to narrow her search. The floor was uncomfortable, but Imogen was unwilling to move. She started off sitting, but after an hour or two, she shifted so her weight was on her knees. Eventually, she laid down, resting her stomach on the musty mushroom floor. At some point, as Imogen was writing information down in a journal, she realized she didn’t know where the journal, pen, and ink came from. Glancing at Neloth, she wondered when the man had given them to her. 

As she held the pen with her teeth, she heard Neloth’s footfalls stride over to her. He towered over her book fortress and leaned over. 

“Well, how goes your search for a mirror that may or may not be real?” he teased arrogantly. 

Imogen ignored his tone and took the pen out of her mouth. “Slow, but interesting.” She gestured to a small pile of books to her left. “These all just had the synopsis of the Tear’m I had read before, nothing more. But I did find a few that went into more detail.

“There are some inconsistencies in the legend. A few of these sources agree that the mirror was a creation of the Daedra. It isn’t a Daedric Artifact so to speak, for in order to be considered a true Daedric Artifact, it has to be a tool that the Princes bestow upon Their champions for doing Their bidding. But the Tear’m, according to what I’ve found, isn’t treated as a reward for a champion. It’s just...something a Prince may have left behind.

“One source has it being a curse left by Clavicus Vile after tricking some foolish mortal out of a barter. That story resonates with what my colleagues at the University seemed to think of the mirror, except they believed the mirror itself to be fake. This story claims the mirror is real. 

“Another book states that the mirror is actually a gift left by Azura.” Here, Imogen rolled onto her back as she looked over her notes. 

Neloth stepped over Imogen’s book bulwark and sat next to her, picking up one of the books and leafing through it. “Lady Azura would make the most sense from my speculation. The Tear’m, if it is real, would have to be important or at least known to the Dunmer just based on its name.”

“Even with it being Azura,” Imogen added, resting the book’s spine on her forehead. “There are still inconsistencies. One of these books claims she gave it to the Chimer for instance.”

Neloth placed the book down, nodding and scratching his chin. “There are sure to be such inconsistencies. You’re dealing with a magical item that may or may not exist. You’ll have people claiming they have found it, people trying to prove it isn’t real, and others with baseless theories and ponderings on the very idea of its existence.”

Closing her eyes, Imogen held the book she was looking at above her, slightly angled towards Neloth. “This one is written by someone who claims they were visited by Azura Herself and told where to find the mirror, or at least that is what the foreword says. 

“The problem,” she continued as Neloth took the book from her hand, “Is that it’s indecipherable, or at least to me it is. I’ve never seen this type of language before.”

Neloth glanced at the page she was on. It was adorned with ink blots and scratches that twirled about the page. Some of the markings were rounded while others were straight and jagged. At first glance, they look to be the ravings of a madman, nothing more than chicken scratch and scribbles. But a closer look would alert one to the obvious patterns that the scribbles formed. There were repeats along the page, just like one would expect to see in legible written language. Words that were common enough to appear in virtually every single sentence. These markings were supposed to mean something, that much was clear. 

After a cursory glance at the opened page, Neloth handed the book back to Imogen. “I’ve never seen that language before,” he said. 

Imogen yawned. “I thought so, but part of me hoped you had. It would make things much easier.”

She held the book overhead, staring at the pages above her. With a sigh, she lowered the book, covering her face for a brief moment before closing the book and resting it on her chest. 

“I suppose it won’t do me much good to stare at it while I’m tired,” she murmured as she closed her eyes again, almost as if she were about to fall asleep right there on the floor. 

Neloth grunted as he stood up. “Perhaps not, but I usually find my most brilliant moments happen when my body has all but exhausted itself.”

Quiet, Imogen remained on the floor. After a few moments, Neloth nudged her with his foot. Her eyes fluttered opened and she rubbed them before propping herself up on her elbows. She glanced around at the books before her. Although she was tired, she wanted nothing more than to continue her search. 

“I will keep the books here,” Neloth commented as Imogen sat up. “And you may look at them again tomorrow. I would rather you not take them from Tel Naga; some of these books were a hassle to acquire and I don’t want to attract attention to them.”

Imogen agreed to the terms as she finally pried herself up from the floor, stretching her back as she stood. The two of them stood there for a minute before heading their separate ways, Imogen for the tower’s shaft and Neloth to his lab table.

When Imogen approached the shaft, she turned back to Neloth. He was studying his vial once more, jotting notes down in his journal. Imogen found herself smiling, and that smile quickly turned into one that matched the smile of a little girl her mother used to call her “Little Imp.”

“Master Neloth?” She called.

“Hm?” he hummed in response, not breaking away from his work. 

Neloth didn’t seem to notice Imogen’s lack of response as she held up her hands close to her chest. She curved her fingers, bringing the tips of her left hand to the tips of her right one. She took a deep breath, concentrating on her fingers. Her nimble fingers which she used to manipulate the world around her. Little fingers which could touch whatever she wanted as long as she tried. 

As she flicked her fingers outwards toward Neloth’s table, a soft orange aura glowed around her wrists. Simultaneously, a similar-looking aura surrounded itself around Neloth’s journal as it shut itself and threw itself against Neloth’s head. 

“That’s for trapping me in the sand!” Imogen chortled as she quickly jumped down the hole, afraid that Neloth would retaliate.


	12. Shards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two: Outlander in Outlandish Territory  
> In which Imogen decides to travel to Morrowind to seek the help of the Telvanni to research the Tear'm Ouada and gets more than she bargained for.

Two weeks passed since Imogen began her research, and she was growing frustrated with how slow the process was becoming. 

True to her word, she never took the books out of Tel Naga. As the days rolled by, Imogen and Neloth had a flexible schedule they tried their best to adhere to. Imogen would arrive with the sun, just as Neloth was tinkering with his immortality fixings. He would pause his project so he could continue studying Imogen’s Vampirism. He had tested her blood, finding it oddly similar to that of a normal Imperial’s blood (“But there does appear to be a smidge of something different about it. I just don’t know what yet.”). He had her sit in direct sunlight for a few hours so he could study the effects. He asked her to go a few days without feeding so he could record the changes in her appearance and attitude. He had her blindly sample different types of blood to see if there were any preferences in appetite. 

The Vampirism studies would normally preside from sun up until late afternoon when the two would pause for a midday meal. After eating, Imogen would dive into the tomes and research the Tear’m while Neloth would work on whatever project he fancied that day. Occasionally, Imogen would ask Neloth for his input on something she would find, but she mostly sifted through the information on her own. 

Imogen had perused through quite a few of the books, but she kept finding herself returning to the firsthand account, the book written in the strange language. She felt drawn to the book, as if she knew the answers lie within. But how was she to unearth them if she knew not how to read it?

Seated in Neloth’s parlor (for the girl had sought refuge there, finding it a more comfortable place to work than in Neloth’s lab), Imogen stared helplessly at the page before her. She just needed to decipher it. Just needed to understand what each marking meant. She just knew that it held the answers she had been searching for. 

But how does one go about reading a language one had never learned?

At first, Imogen had been pouring over the tomes until the evening meal, after which she would return to her lean-to. As the days went by, Imogen found herself studying later and later, a book in her lap as she ate, and Arara half-dragging the girl out of Tel Naga. 

“If you’re not careful,” Arara warned. “You’ll end up just as mad as Master Neloth.” 

When Arara brought the girl some tea that fourteenth night, the Dunmer couldn’t help but think the girl was already halfway to the Shivering Isles. Imogen was kneeling on the cushions, slumped over the table, the book laid open to a earmarked page. Next to the book lay the journal Neloth had given her. She tapped the pen against the journal, eyes running over the cryptic message she was so desperate to crack. 

Arara tsked as she knelt by the table. “It’s late, you know.”

“Mmm.” Imogen hummed, rereading the page. 

Sighing, Arara set the cup down and poured some tea. “You should sleep,” she suggested. 

As Arara finished pouring the tea, Imogen looked up at her as if she just realized the woman was there. Imogen rubbed her left eye and stretched her back before accepting the tea.

“Thank you,” she said as she took up the cup with both hands. “But I can’t stop yet.” 

Arara shook her head as she stood up, but she said nothing to dissuade the girl. It was obvious that Imogen was set on spending every waking moment staring at this book. 

When she was alone once more, Imogen took a sip of the tea before setting it down on the table and picking up the book. She held the page close to her face as if the book would whisper the answer in her ear. But alas, the pages stayed their tongues. 

“Tell me your secrets, little ones,” she whispered to the markings.

But again, the words said nothing. 

The words said nothing, and Imogen feared they would always remain vigilantly silent. 

~.~

The fourteenth day melted into the fifteenth day which melted into the fifteenth night as Imogen paced the perimeter of Neloth’s parlor. Paced as if moving would allow her to enter some sort of level of elevated understanding of the universe and the cosmos. 

Neloth leaned against the doorframe, an eyebrow raised as the girl, hands clasped behind her back, hummed to herself. She was barefooted, her shoes casted to the side of the room. After her seventeenth lap around the room, Neloth stuck his arm out and covered her face with his hand as she passed him. Imogen halted, blinking out of her reverie. 

“You haven’t even found the mirror yet and you’re already insane,” he teased.

Imogen frowned. “I’m not insane. I suppose you stopped me because you wish to experiment on me some more?”

“No,” Neloth replied. “I’m kicking you out.”

Imogen faltered. “What? But why?!”

He grabbed the girl by the arm and led her through his lab. Exhausted, Imogen didn’t put up much of a fight. “Because,” he grunted. “I tire of your inane muttering.”

He let her go once they arrived at the hole. “Don’t come back until you’re lucid once more,” he ordered before turning his back on her.

Imogen wanted to argue, but the yawn she was stifling told her to do as he said. Reluctantly, Imogen descended the tower and made her way through Sadrith Mora, slightly annoyed her boots and bag were still in Neloth’s parlor. The town was asleep, though Imogen could see lights flickering in a few windows. Wearily, her feet led her out of the town and down the dirt path to her lean-to.

But when she arrived, shock shook her awake. 

In pieces scattered on the dirt road lay what remained of Imogen’s lean-to. A quick assessment of the surrounding area told Imogen that this was no accident. Someone or something intentionally destroyed her home. 

Destroyed her home, but left all of her belongings neatly under one of the mushroom trees. 

As Imogen approached her supplies, she heard a soft crunch of the soil behind her, as if someone had shifted on their feet. A hand on her dagger, Imogen took a breath and whirled around.

“It was an eyesore,” Mirihesa stated before Imogen could even register the Dunmer was there. 

Imogen wanted to be angry. She wanted to be upset. She wanted to yell at the girl and demand why she had done such a thing. Instead, Imogen said nothing. She took her hand away from her blade and ran her fingers through her hair. She watched as Mirihesa shifted again. Watched as Mirihesa’s eyes danced from the wreckage to anywhere but where Imogen stood. The summer air was still, making the sounds of the forest louder than usual. Without uttering a sound, Mirihesa brushed passed Imogen and took up the box of books Imogen had desperately clung to on her journey to Morrowind. The Dunmer heaved as she lifted the box up before skirting her eyes passed Imogen. 

As Mirihesa began walking toward Sadrith Mora, Imogen watched, eyes heavy. Was she being robbed right before her eyes?

Mirihesa turned around sharply. “Well, come on then. Look alive!” she barked before tightening her jaw and whipping her head away from Imogen’s view. 

Confused and tired, Imogen figured there was no other option but to follow Mirihesa. As they walked back to town, Imogen couldn’t help but wonder what the merchant was going to do with her things. Perhaps she was going to sell them. But then why have Imogen follow in the first place?

They reached Mirihesa’s shop. The owner placed the box down so she could unlock the door. Once the door was open, Mirihesa nudged the box inside with her foot before she stepped to the side and looked at Imogen. It took Imogen a few moments to realize Mirihesa was waiting for her to enter. Pressing her arms against herself as if to make herself smaller, Imogen did as she was silently commanded and entered the small dwelling.

Mirihesa’s mushroom was nothing compared to Tel Naga. The building had but one floor and one room. In one corner lay a rusted kettle over a modest fire. Next to the fire was a shoddy wooden table and a mismatched wooden chair. On the opposite side of the room were a bedroll and a handstitched blanket. The rest of the house acted as storage, with crates of various fruits and assorted odd and ends stacked up almost to the ceiling. Imogen stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, taking it all in. She turned towards Mirihesa, who had headed straight for her fireplace, and waited for an explanation. Instead, Mirihesa explained that she hadn’t eaten dinner yet and wanted to know if Imogen was hungry. Unsure of what was expected of her, Imogen declined politely and Mirihesa just shrugged. 

A bowl in hand, Mirihesa leaned against the table rather than sitting in the chair. She spooned the mushy brown food into her mouth. There was no savory aroma like the food Imogen ate in Tel Naga. With a tilt of her head, Mirihesa gestured to the chair beside her. Hesitant, Imogen sat down and turned so she could face her hostess. At first, Mirihesa ate in silence, the only sound the cracking of the firewood. 

“How goes the business with Master Neloth?” Mirihesa finally said. Imogen could hear the stutter in her voice as if she was unsure of how to begin the conversation.

Imogen gave a deep sigh. “Honestly, I don’t even know anymore.”

Staring at the bottom of her bowl, Mirihesa grunted and nodded. 

Since the Dunmer offered no other words to further the awkward beginnings of their attempted conversation, Imogen gave it a shot. “How goes business for you?”

With a scornful laugh, Mirihesa smiled. “You see my home; you tell me.”

The fire roared and crackled, desperate to be the sole noise of the dwelling once again. The two girls obliged, both sets of eyes trained on the floor before them. Imogen was tired, not just from staying awake for two days straight but from pure frustration. She knew she had the key to finding the Tear’m, but she just couldn’t reach it! Yet, despite how tired she was, she found herself sitting in that chair, wide awake. Perhaps she was beyond normal exhaustion. Perhaps she was so tired that even sleep sounded like too much work.

Mirihesa was the first to break the silence again. “If you are wondering if this means I forgive you, know that it doesn’t. It doesn’t...because I should have never been cross with you in the first place.

“I suppose I was just jealous, is all,” she continued, pushing off of the table. Imogen watched her evenly. “Jealous because...twenty years ago, I came to Sadrith Mora with the same light in my eyes as you did. I saw it in you. Saw it and was disgusted by it because it made me remember that very day. Remember the day I came crawling to Tel Naga, clawing at the sides, begging the master to come down to speak with me. Remember being turned away because I couldn’t reach the top on my own. See, Telvanni wizards make their towers so tall so to deter people from bothering them. If you can’t get up there yourself, you ain’t worth their time.

“But I returned to Tel Naga every day for a week straight. Drove poor Arara mad. In an attempt to stop me, she brought me to Neloth’s lab herself. I was always told I was hotheaded, but that’s a becoming trait for a Telvanni wizard, you know. So I demanded that Neloth teach me how to be a wizard. I wanted to be Neloth’s apprentice.”

“He turned you down,” Imogen guessed. 

Mirihesa nodded. “Of course he turned me down. Said I had no right making demands like that, not when I couldn’t even muster a single ounce of magicka. I was so angry, I remember flipping over one of his lab tables!”

Imogen smiled as Mirihesa laughed at the memory, though Imogen could see water gathering in Mirihesa’s eyes. “What did he do?” Imogen asked.

“By Dagon, he threw me out. Literally! Arara is the only reason I’m here breathing today.” 

Here, Mirihesa paused, caught in the memory for a moment. Clearing her throat, she continued. 

“See, I come from a long line of mages, I do. I wanted nothing more than to be just like my ancestors. And I wasn’t going to let Neloth tell me I couldn’t. So, I traveled to other Telvanni towers but met similar fates there. 

“One day, I met that bloke Bildren Areleth over at Tel Aruhn. I don’t even remember what I did, but I pissed him off. Whether it was fate or misfortune, Master Neloth was there on business. I remember Bildren making a huge deal out of the fact that Neloth was doing his own shopping because‘Telvanni wizards don’t do their own chores,’” 

Mirihesa mimicked Neloth’s voice perfectly. Imogen snorted and chortled, hiding her teeth behind her hands as she laughed. Mirihesa paused her story so she could laugh as well. It was that special time of night when anything and everything could be amusing. 

Wiping a stray tear off her cheek and placing the bowl on the table, Mirihesa pressed forward. “Well, a long story short, Master Neloth practically saved my life from the hands of Bildren Areleth. Ever since then, I’ve owed Neloth a debt of gratitude. Why I do so much for him even though he gives me nothing much in return.”

Though she smiled, Imogen couldn't believe what was happening. Ever since Imogen arrived in Sadrith Mora, Mirihesa had made it obvious she despised the Imperial. How could someone just suddenly change their attitude? As Imogen pondered, she recalled how Mirihesa had followed when Neloth dragged Imogen to the sea. How she interceded when Aeryn was creeping her out. But why did Mirihesa follow? Was it for personal gain? Or had she been looking out for Imogen?

Standing in the center of her house, Mirihesa folded her arms across her chest. Despite her newfound hospitality, her demeanor still came off as harsh. Her face almost a permanent scowl that only looked friendly when she really tried. Imogen thought of when she would see Mirihesa working with customers, how Mirihesa seemed to always scowl at them. Maybe Mirihesa wasn't always angry. Maybe that was just how she faced the world.

Imogen looked towards the fire. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

The Dunmer shrugged and said nothing at first. After a minute, she pulled a pendant she was wearing off and held it up to Imogen. Gently, Imogen took it from her and manipulated it in her hand. The symbols seemed familiar and, for some reason, reminded her of her mother.

Then it clicked. 

“Malacath,” Imogen murmured.

Mirihesa nodded. “It's the symbol of Malacath. He isn't...popular among Dunmer, but...he represents those who are outcasted. Those who don't belong.”

The stone charm in the center was a dark green, almost black. With the flickering light of the fire, the pendant refracted the light upon the floor, bits of green triangles dancing like torchbugs. Imogen handed the pendant back to its owner. 

Mirihesa closed her fist around the charm. “I know what it’s like to not belong.”

~.~

As gracious as she was for the hospitality, Imogen spent the next several days unwillingly in Mirihesa’s home. Unwillingly not because she did not wish to stay with Mirihesa, but because Imogen was not allowed to step foot inside Tel Naga.

When she had awoken the next day, the sun was already high in the sky. Imogen could not believe how long she had slept, but her body had thanked her for it. Eager to return to her work, Imogen headed straight to Tel Naga, but when she arrived in Neloth’s lab, she was sent straight away by Neloth himself.

“But what about my research?” Imogen exclaimed. 

“I told you not to come back until you were lucid once more,” Neloth explained. 

“But I am!” 

Yet Neloth seemed to disagree. Despite how awake the girl felt and looked, Neloth claimed she was not lucid and therefore was not allowed back in. When she tried to protest, Neloth interjected, stating that he wasn’t thrilled about the arrangement either since it meant that the Vampirism experiments would have to be put on hold (“And I had some wonderful ideas to try out next,”). The longer she tried to claim her sanity, the more Imogen realized that it was not worth arguing with one who didn’t seem all the way there himself, so she retreated from Tel Naga and stormed away to Mirihesa’s house. 

While now more hospitable, Mirihesa took some getting used to. She ran her market from dawn until dusk. Unlike the merchants in Cyrodiil that Imogen was accustomed to, Mirihesa did not call out or coax passerbyers towards her wares. At first, Imogen found this odd and thought it a quirk, but she noted that the other merchants in Sadrith Mora were just as silent. Perhaps it was a Dunmer thing? Or more specifically a Telvanni thing. Yes, as Imogen thought about it, the Telvanni were a proud group, and wouldn’t it be below them to practically beg for customers? 

When Mirihesa had customers, she remained quiet and sullen, practically ignoring them, but then again, her customers ignored her. Eventually, one would ask the price of an item; Mirihesa would grunt a response, and the two of them would haggle until a price was agreed upon. She had a habit of biting down ever septim she was handed, and Imogen couldn’t help but wonder if the girl had been cheated before. 

Imogen had offered to help Mirihesa run the store in return for letting her stay there, but Mirihesa had huffed at the offer and seemed insulted that Imogen would even suggest such a thing. With nothing else to do, Imogen mostly kept to herself inside the house, wishing she could continue with her studies. At one point, Imogen had asked if Mirihesa would be able to sneak by Master Neloth and grab the book she had been working on, but Mirihesa refused. Not only would she not be able to get up to the tower on her own (and she couldn’t lie to Arara about her motives after all the woman had done for her), but she could not bring herself to betray Neloth like that. Disappointed, Imogen understood. After a few days of exile, Imogen was pacing in Mirihesa’s house rather than in Neloth’s parlor. She was antsy; she needed to figure this mystery out. 

As she paced, she watched her reflection in the mirror that hung on the wall opposite the fire. Watched as her reflection furrowed its brows and uttered to itself about how unfair it was to be separated from its research. Imogen paused, eyes fixed on the glass. She took a step towards it. It had been a few years since she had looked upon herself, yet not a single change was apparent on her face. No wrinkle to indicate how long it had been. She opened her mouth to examine her teeth. They lacked a little luster, but her incisors still were sharp and piercing. 

Taking another step closer, and another until there were no more steps to take, Imogen closed her mouth until she could not see the points of her incisors. She had practiced this before many years ago when she had lived with Quaril. She would curl the corners of her lips in a soft smile, seeing how far she could take the grin before her fangs showed. It had taken months to get used to that particular smile, and even then, Imogen still preferred to hide her smile behind a hand, just in case. 

A set of eyes watched her in the mirror. They were blue, deep blue, a ring of red around the iris one could only detect if one sought it out. Imogen knew the ring would grow if she went too long without feeding. Grow as if to consume her. 

Sighing, Imogen pressed her face against the glass, making she and her reflection one. Two Imogens joined by the nose. As her breath fogged the glass, Imogen blinked at her reflection. Slowly, she took her face away and wiped away the condensation with her hand. Lingering there, her hand met with the reflection’s, meshed together into some strange beast with two backs. Gingerly, she slid her hand back, leaving just her fingertips on the pane. Tip to tip, the two hands were one. 

She took her fingers away and folded them against her hand, leaving just her index finger and thumb erect. Her reflection complied and followed her as she pressed her thumb’s tip to the glass, making an L. Only, instead of an L, she and her reflection made what looked like a strange U. She tilted her hand away from the glass. She and the reflection made a W. Using both her hands, Imogen made a T and pressed it against the mirror. She and her reflection made a strange shape, almost like a lowercase N. She made a lowercase T with her fingers; she and the reflection made what almost looked like an H. Imogen curled the fingers of one hand into an O and pressed it against the pane; she and her reflection made a sideways 8. She stuck her index finger up to make a lowercase D; her reflection made a lowercase B and the two letters kissed. 

In a flash, Imogen ran out of the house, almost mowing Mirihesa down. 

“What are you doing?!” Mirihesa called out, fixing the fruit Imogen almost knocked over. 

Imogen turned around but did not stop moving towards Tel Naga. “I’ve done it, Miri, I’ve done it! Your mirror has given me clarity!”

As the Imperial turned around again and ran for Tel Naga, Mirihesa cupped her hands around her mouth. “But I don’t own a mirror!”

The words didn’t seem to resonate with Imogen as she stormed up the steps and bursted into the tower. Like the excitement in her chest, she rose to the top and stormed passed Neloth. He took one look at her countenance, how her eyes gleamed like a madman’s, and smirked, saying nothing as she headed straight for the parlor. He hung back but followed her, leaning against the doorframe as Imogen flung the book open. 

“It isn’t in a different language,” Imogen narrated, either knowing Neloth was there or explaining it to herself. “It’s just coded. Encrypted. The letters are doubled up. One regular and one reflected.” 

Neloth watched as the girl hastily wrote in her journal. As she worked, he stepped over and sat at the table next to her, brows inclined. Looking over her shoulder, he began to see what she was talking about: **[I had an image that went here but I obviously can't post it. Here's the link to the Tumblr page where I originally posted it http://taergalive.tumblr.com/post/135158850388/rest-of-part-two-heremore-two-weeks-passed]**

The ravings of a madman. There could be no other explanation to Neloth. And yet, as Imogen worked, the letters presented themselves to Neloth just as they did Imogen.

Imogen muttered as she worked, cherishing each word as if they were her children. 

“Broken into shards of four  
Create the sacred spirit door.   
Piece by piece, hand in hand,  
Scattered all throughout the land.  
Shall madness break you? Shall you break?  
What demons seem to lie in wake?  
In the heart of all things dire  
Lays one part you desire.   
Another up in the air,  
Closest to the heavens a mortal can dare.  
Shifting lava like water does flow;  
Another place that you must go.  
Flesh of mortal but God in power,  
Seek it if you do not cower.  
Piece by piece, hand in hand,  
Just as the Master planned,  
Joined together again as one,  
The dark, daring deed is done.”

Once she finished, Imogen looked up at Neloth, who studied the disjointed poem she had written. Almost in agony, she held her breath and waited for him to say something, anything, for she was not sure what to say herself. Finally, Neloth took her journal from her and read the poem again. His eyes snapped to hers, glimmering, and a simper graced his face.

“Now you’ve got something.”

~.~

Arara didn’t argue, but she was confused when Neloth had her bring up some Flin and Greef. Flin was expensive (though a luxury Neloth could afford), and while Greef was usually cheap, the Master didn’t normally partake in such drinks unless on the verge of a breakthrough. When Arara brought the beverages up, she cautiously eyed her master as she handed the bottles to him. 

“You’re not going to blow a hole through the tower again are you?” She asked, folding her arms. “The mycologist said that we were lucky the last time and can’t afford to have the tower torn like that again.”

Arms filled with bottles, Neloth snorted. “He didn’t know what he was talking about. Now run along; we have some scrying to do.”

Arara casted Imogen a sorry look, but she stopped when she noticed a smile twitching on Imogen’s lips. As if to speak, Arara opened her mouth, but she quickly snapped it shut. Without uttering another word, Arara bowed slightly to her master and patted Imogen on the shoulder before making her leave.

Neloth dumped a few of the bottles into Imogen’s arms before leading the girl to the other side of her laboratory. She had seen this side before but never really worked there. It acted as a sort of study, where most of Neloth’s books rested. A lone table was nestled between two bookshelves, various crystals and boxes scattered about. Neloth handed the rest of the bottles over to Imogen -but, as there were too many, she had to place them gently on the floor- and he began to shift through the materials, barely casting a glance to any particular one.

“What exactly are we doing?” Imogen asked.

A perfectly round piece of crystal lay in Neloth’s hand. “Scrying,” he replied. 

Imogen sighed. “Yes, you had said that. But what does that mean?”

Her answer prompted a sidelong glance from Neloth. “They really do teach nothing at that school,” he snorted as he grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to sit in the only chair the desk had. He held the crystal in one hand and reached for a bottle of Flin with the other. With his teeth, he uncorked the bottle which he then handed to Imogen. 

The girl frowned as she took the bottle. “I know what scrying means,” she said. “But what I want to know is why...why are we drinking?”

As she asked this, Neloth had taken a bottle of Greef for himself and had taken a swig of the stuff as he tapped the crystal ball with his finger. “What do you know about scrying?” 

She shrugged. “It’s like studying only with meditation instead of books.”

“Wrong,” Neloth barked, taking another swig.

Judging by the glimmer in Neloth’s eyes, Imogen could tell the man was enjoying her confusion and, even more, her ignorance. In the few weeks that she knew him, she had only ever seen him drink tea, but now here he was downing Greef like there was no tomorrow. 

When the man didn’t offer any more of an explanation, Imogen sighed and gave into Neloth’s whimsies. “Then what is scrying?”

With a bit of a flourish, Neloth balanced the crystal ball on his fingertips. “Scrying is a special type of clairvoyance. Normally, clairvoyance is used to show you where you need to go, but in order to use it, you need to have a general idea of what it is you are looking for and where to begin searching.”

As he spoke, Imogen sniffed at the Flin. The scent burnt her nostrils, making her wince. “Is scrying then used when you’re not sure what you are looking for?” She interceded, then quickly snapped her mouth shut. She remembered that when she interrupts Neloth’s lectures, she gets hit with books. 

Either it was because he had no book to smack her or maybe it was the Greef, but instead of smacking her, Neloth nodded. “Precisely. Or if you don’t have a general idea where. You were right about one thing; scrying involves some meditation, but because it is a clairvoyant spell, you need to use magic to make it work.

“Now, this particular spell is a little tricky to work,” Neloth continued, cupping the crystal ball in his hand once again. “Most magic requires years of practice to use with ease or a lot of concentration to use it if you are inexperienced. But since you are looking for something which you are not sure of- the answer to this, this...riddle, let’s call it- you need to loosen your mind.”

Imogen blinked at him. “...is that what the alcohol is for?” 

“Er, well, yes and no. It helps loosen the mind, but it was mostly for celebration. Breakthroughs require recognition, so I like to drink when the occasion permits.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “If that’s the case, why don’t I see you drinking more often?”

Neloth gave her a hard look which wiped the smile off her face. “Breakthroughs are rare,” he replied. 

“Oh,” Imogen frowned. “But...you seem...very good at what you do. I had just assumed-”

“What I consider a breakthrough,” Neloth interrupted. “Is finding what you set out to find. Not every victory can be considered a breakthrough. Yes, I get inches closer to where I was to be, but I haven’t crossed a line in a few years. 

“But that is neither here nor there. Now,” Here, Neloth handed Imogen the crystal ball. “Can you tell me what is so special about glass?”

Again, Imogen smiled. She knew this one. “All the elements play a role in its creation.”

“And so…?”

“...magic has little effect on it?” 

He nodded. “Makes for a very useful vessel.”

When Imogen furrowed her brows, Neloth placed an open palm atop the glass orb. Without grasping it, he lifted his hand. The orb followed as if attached. 

“Magicka cannot pass through glass,” he explained. “But it can be trapped within.”

Indeed, as he spoke, Imogen noticed a soft, iridescent glow drifting within the orb. The translucent cloud floated around where Neloth’s palm rested. 

“You’re manipulating the magicka trapped inside,” Imogen stated. 

Neloth allowed the orb to fall into Imogen’s hands. Instantly, the cloud dissipated and the orb was clear once again. As Imogen peered into the orb, Neloth plucked the untouched bottle of Flin from her other hand and started drinking from it. 

She looked up at him. “But I don’t understand. You don’t believe in the Tear’m.” The Wizard had made sure to mock her at every turn. Imogen couldn’t understand why he would go this far to help her. If he didn’t believe the Tear’m Ouada existed, why would he waste his time like this?

“I never said that,” he countered. “Only that it was most likely fake and that I never pursued it.”

Imogen pursed her lips and gave him a look of disbelief. She didn’t quite remember it that way, but she kept quiet. 

“Plus,” Neloth added. “No one would encrypt a message like that without reason. Might not necessarily mean your mirror is real, but it is still worth exploring.

“So toy with the magicka within the orb and think about that rhyme. If you are lucky, something might come to you.” 

Before sauntering off, he patted Imogen’s head rather roughly. Imogen watched as he took another swig of the Flin while he headed for his favorite lab table. Despite having just downed an entire bottle of Greef on his own and working on another bottle of alcohol, the man seemed pretty stable, as if all he had been drinking was water. yet the oh-so tale tells rush of blood across his cheeks claimed otherwise. Smiling, Imogen opened another bottle and took a sip. She instantly regretted it, as the liquid stung worse than any spice ever could. Quickly, she swallowed the Flin, squeezing her eyes shut as she did. 

Coughing, Imogen placed the bottle on the desk and held the orb at eye level. The crystalline seemed simple yet beautiful. She toyed with it in her hands for a few seconds, getting used to the weight and feel of the object before taking a breath and intently peering inside. All it took was an inclining, a desire to touch the magicka inside, for the orb to stitch itself to her hand. She flipped her hand over so her palm faced the floor. The orb stuck. Imogen stifled a chuckle. In all her years of studying magic, why hadn’t she ever learned this? Without moving her hand, Imogen forced the orb to roll to the top of her hand. The sensation tickled, and she allowed herself to giggle.

For the first hour of scrying, Imogen focused only on the orb and making it dance. She wanted to know just what she could do with it. With time, it became easier to manipulate, which allowed her to start pondering over the strange, encrypted poem. As the orb danced from hand to hand, Imogen recited the poem in a breathy whisper. 

“‘Broken into shards of four/Create the sacred spirit door.’” She paused. “Well, yes, that would make sense. That would mean the mirror is no longer in one piece. It’s fragmented. Split. Torn into four pieces. Put them together and create the Tear’m?

“‘Piece by piece, hand in hand/Scattered all throughout the land/Shall madness break you? Shall you break?/What demons seem to lie in wake?’ If the writing of the poem indicates anything, whoever wrote this was broken by the madness he speaks of. But why? Does looking for the Tear’m drive one mad? Or is it the mirror itself?

“‘In the heart of all things dire/Lays one part you desire.’ This clearly refers to a specific piece, a specific location. But where? ‘Another up in the air/Closest to the heavens a mortal can dare.’ A mountain of some sort? ‘Shifting lava like water does flow;/Another place that you must go./Flesh of mortal but God in power,/Seek it if you do not cower.’ But where does all this lead? Where is the heart? What mountain to climb? 

“‘Piece by piece, hand in hand,/Just as the Master planned,’ Who? Azura? Another Daedric Prince? ‘Joined together again as one,/The dark, daring deed is done.’”

When she finished reciting it the first time, she tried again, once again interrupting herself with unrelenting commentary. Thrice she recited the poem, and a fourth time still. On and on she went, each time faster, and each time with fewer questions. Fewer questions but still no answers. The orb danced from finger to finger to hand to wrist to arm to palm, a sort of metronome keeping time for Imogen’s incantation. The words meshed together until they didn’t make sense anymore, until they didn’t sound like words anymore. A mirror in shards in pieces scattered. A mirror that needed to be put together. A mirror that lay in hearts and streams. In fire. In lava. In a place of fire. Of fire 

“Of fire,” Imogen murmured. “Of fire. Fiery nature. Where have I heard that? An affinity. Affinity. Fire of nature of water of light. A stream of fire. Fire like water flowing like a river. Because of our fiery nature.”

Without warning, the orb stopped its dance and rolled off of Imogen’s fingertips, landing on the floor beside her with a thud. Imogen was motionless for a moment, her eyes focused on some unseen entity floating just beyond her. The sound of the orb dropping caught Neloth’s ear. While he did not approach her, he stopped his work and turned to study her. A sort of calm washed over Imogen’s face as she finally blinked and turned her head towards Neloth. The far-off look still lingered, though it slowly turned to one of understanding.

“I know where one piece lays,” Imogen whispered. 

~.~

“Has she returned yet, Miss Uvules?”

“I haven’t seen her."

Imogen sighed and tried to keep from sulking, but it was proving to be more difficult than it should have been. Three weeks had passed since she scryed for the mirror, and yet she had heard no word from Mirihesa. 

When Imogen told Neloth she knew where a shard of the mirror was, she was exaggerating. As Neloth had suggested, scrying did help her gain clarity into the situation and allowed her to bend her mind in ways she would not have thought possible. Through the activity, she was able to get an inkling of where one piece of the mirror lay. Unfortunately, that inkling was simply somewhere in Morrowind.

“You see,” She had explained to Master Neloth, pointing at the verse she had transcribed. “‘Shifting lava like water does flow.’ The Red Mountain of Morrowind is staple; when one thinks of Morrowind, that volcano is what they think of first.”

Neloth shrugged. “Not really, but I see your point.”

Imogen ignored him. “A piece of the Tear’m is here. In Morrowind.”

They bantered back and forth for a few minutes more. Neloth was not convinced that Imogen had enough evidence to make this conjecture, but Imogen was resolved. There was a glimmer in her eyes that claimed it saw the truth. Perhaps that glimmer was what convinced Neloth to send Mirihesa off.

When he had initially presented the books to Imogen, Neloth had told her he had many connections across Morrowind and even throughout other parts of Tamriel. He sent Mirihesa off to neighboring towns so she could investigate the situation. If the Tear’m was real, and if Imogen’s scrying held true, a piece of the Tear’m was in Morrowind, and Neloth seemed convinced that if all of that was true, then the Tear’m had to be in the hands of another Telvanni wizard. Though she didn’t quite understand it, Imogen gathered from the way Neloth explained it that the Telvanni had very different morals than the wizards she had gotten to know in Cyrodiil. For instance, Neloth claimed that a very popular Telvanni pastime was simply other wizards sending their underlings to pilfer pieces of Neloth’s collection. And Master Neloth had no qualms about sending Mirihesa to steal them back and, while she was at it, take some of their precious collectibles as well. When Imogen had inquired about it, Mirihesa gave the biggest smile Imogen had ever seen the girl give as the merchant explained it was one of her favorite tasks given to her by Neloth.

“I may not be able to conjure a lick of anything,” Mirihesa had said. “But I sure can pinch an artifact or two with ease.”

Despite her misgivings on the whole theft situation, Imogen encouraged Mirihesa to at least investigate the other Telvanni towers to see if the Tear’m could be found. 

“And if,” Mirihesa added. “It was to fall into my hands, why, wouldn’t that be grand?” 

But all that had been three weeks ago. Imogen was starting to worry that Mirihesa had gotten caught trying to steal from a Master Wizard. Through Neloth, Imogen had seen just how cruel the Telvanni could be; she couldn’t imagine the other wizards being any nicer. Deep down, Imogen knew her real fear: that the mirror was really a hoax and that she had sent Mirihesa on a wild goose chase. 

Trying to explain to Mirihesa why the mirror was so important proved difficult. First, the Dunmer wanted to know why Imogen kept insisting that Mirihesa’s mirror helped solve the mystery of the journal. According to Mirihesa, she didn’t own a mirror. Indeed, when Imogen went back to Mirihesa’s house, the mirror that hung on the wall was no longer there. Imogen knew this should have concerned her, but she paid no mind to this small detail. Second, like Master Neloth, Mirihesa wanted to know just why Imogen was obsessed with finding this artifact. Imogen offered the same excuses she gave Master Neloth, but Mirihesa wouldn’t budge. She refused to help Imogen unless the Imperial trusted her enough to tell the truth. 

Imogen had sighed, eyeing Mirihesa’s Malacath pendant hanging around the girl’s neck. “I suppose,” Imogen murmured, trying to find the right words. “I suppose I just need to know if it’s real. Because if it is, I would...I would very much like to use it. I have some wounds that need to be closed.”

Mirihesa was quiet as if she didn’t know what to say. But she didn’t ask any further questions. In fact, she agreed to the task without further delay.

Every day that passed without word from Mirihesa was torture. Since spending the night in another’s house without that person present was unnerving for Imogen, she asked Neloth if she could stay in Tel Naga, just until Mirihesa returned. Surprisingly, he agreed, just as long as she stayed out of his way. Imogen didn’t bother to offer to pay; she had learned from Mirihesa that it was considered rude. Instead, she just agreed to his terms.

Strangely, the Vampirism experiments were put on hold. Because she was staying there, she thought there would be more. But no. Just like she was on the verge of a possible breakthrough with the Tear’m, Master Neloth felt close to finding his immortality serum. When pressed for details, he didn’t offer many, but he did admit to trying to work in samples of her blood. Imogen wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that, but she kept her thoughts to herself. 

Imogen also wasn’t sure how to feel about the possibility of her finding a piece of the mirror. Most research endeavors took years to bear fruit; she had only truly begun searching for the Tear’m 3 months prior. 

“Maybe the Tear’m wants to be found,” she mused one day as she transcribing more of the madman’s journal. 

Truly, it was an interesting read from what she could tell thus far. She started at the beginning, learning a bit about the man himself (and though she thought it odd she was initially drawn to the page that had eventually led her to finding the Tear’m, she didn’t dwell too much on the fact that it was too much of a coincidence and therefore unnerving). She had assumed him to be a Dunmer based on the way he spoke of Lady Azura, but his name, Falclian, made her believe him to be an Altmer. She felt guilty for reading into his personal life, but Imogen was afraid to skip over any details, in case something important presented itself. She noted that Falclian mentioned his family in the first few entries, but they weren’t mentioned much in later dates. 

When the third week became the fourth week, Imogen had translated the first 20 ages or so of the thick tome. By that point, Imogen no longer copied the translated text in a separate book. Instead, she could read the mirrored language as if it were her native tongue. She even found herself trying to write in that style. It was awkward at first, but with practice, the strange letters flowed from her pen. At one point, Arara spotted Imogen writing in such a fashion. She Dunmer said nothing, but a grave look was plastered on her face. Imogen wasn’t sure why; she found writing in the mirror language fun. 

Arara did suggest the girl spend more time outside of the tower, but Imogen declined. Not just because she enjoyed being in Tel Naga but also because Sadrith Mora had become less hospitable. At some point in Mirihesa’s absence, Aeryn the Halfling had arrived to town. From what Imogen could gather, Aeryn was there on official Imperial business, but Imogen wasn’t so sure. Imogen couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something about Aeryn set her on edge. Whenever she was in Sadrith Mora, Imogen found herself being watched by the Halfling. Everyone in the town held some sort of disdain for the Imperial guard, but Imogen especially wanted to avoid her. 

So, Imogen spent her time waiting inside Tel Naga. It didn’t really bother her; she wasn’t that fond of the sun anyway. 

The fourth week was halfway over when a sort of commotion resonated from the lower levels of Tel Naga. Excited yips and hoots echoed off the walls which pulled Imogen away from her reading. As she strode across the laboratory, Arara arrived, arms linked with one very travel-worn but visibly ecstatic Mirihesa. Before the two could land on the floor, Imogen’s chest swelled and she broke out into a clumsy sprint (for it is quite difficult to fully run indoors, especially in a Telvanni Wizard’s lair) toward the two Dunmer. When she approached them, Imogen all but hugged Mirihesa, clasping her shoulders and smiling broadly before covering the smile with one hand. 

Mirihesa leaned heavily against Arara, but she chuckled at Imogen. “I wasn’t expecting such a welcome; usually I just get a grunt and a few drakes for my troubles.”

Though her mouth was hidden, Imogen’s smile was still plain as day. “I am just relieved to see you alive. I was starting to worry I sent you to your death.”

Again, Mirihesa chuckled. “I’m sorry to hear you have such little faith in me. I might have to be offended.”

“No offense meant!” Imogen replied. “It just had been so long since you set out.”

Arm stilled linked with Mirihesa’s, Arara grunted. “Well, you did send her on a rather vague journey with little hope of success.” 

Lowering her hand, Imogen furrowed her brows at Arara and her smile faltered. Something about Arara’s tone perturbed Imogen. 

Meanwhile, Mirihesa waved Arara off. “Oh pish,” she said. “I do this sort of thing for Master Neloth all the time, I do. Getting pretty good at it too, if I do say so myself. I can’t summon a lick of magicka, but Dagon be damned I can’t smuggle goods in and out. Hey, maybe that’s my calling in life. If I could round up the money for it, I could start smuggling slaves out again.”

The mirth in Mirihesa’s voice was contagious. Imogen couldn't believe the smile she was seeing. “Smuggling slaves?” She asked as she began to smile again, a soft smile with no teeth barred. 

“Back when I could afford it, I used to buy slaves from the farm,” Mirihesa explained. “Everyone in town thinks I’ve some sort of warehouse or another down south, but the joke’s on them; I’ve been smuggling them out to Black Marsh. Haven’t been able to do it in quite some time; slaves are expensive.

“Ah, but where’s my head at?” Mirihesa continued, gently prying herself out of Arara’s grasp. She untied the bag that hung on her hip and pulled out a drab piece of cloth. The linen was folded over as if it was being used as wrapping for a present. Mirihesa handed the folded cloth to Imogen. 

Imogen’s fingers scarcely caressed the cloth, but she knew exactly what it was. From her fingertips straight to her heart a strong, aching, cold shudder rippled. Even without unwrapping it, Imogen knew this was it. That somehow Mirihesa succeeded and found it. The shard. The shard of the Tear’m Ouada Imogen felt residing in Morrowind.

“How?” Imogen whispered, caressing the glass from outside its linen casement. “How did you found it?”

Mirihesa shrugged, her face relaxing into its usual sullen form, the initial excitement fading, though it was obvious the woman was still proud of her achievement. “It wasn’t easy; it wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t easy. But I will tell you about it later. I’m exhausted.”

“Of course,” Imogen murmured, eyes fixed on the cloth in her hands. “Of course. You should rest.”

As Arara led Mirihesa out of Tel Naga, Imogen gently unwrapped the cloth, undoing each fold with such care as if unswaddling a child. The frame came into view first, a dark blue beauty with swirls of white and black runes. The cloth fell away, revealing the mirror, a soft dark glasswork that seemed to reflect no light. It stood like a mirror glued to the frame, but it did not appear rigid. With one finger, Imogen lightly touched the glass surface; the glass rippled, a distortion that seemed to preternatural for Imogen’s eyes to handle. She looked away, a feeling of dread sinking in her stomach, and she waited for both the feeling and the rippling to pass. Eventually, like a lake on a calm day, the glass stood still. 

Hastily, Imogen wrapped the shard in the cloth once more. She decided she would share the good news with Master Neloth once he took a break from his experiment. Until then, she wanted the shard to be covered. She couldn’t explain why, but she wanted the glass to be covered. 

She waited for Master Neloth to finish up his experiment. She waited for Mirihesa to return from her nap…

~.~

 

“...she did a lot of waiting that day. Master Neloth seemed to be on the trail of something, for he remained busy for the remainder of that day. So Imogen waited, waited in the parlor for Mirihesa to return.”

Sybil sat on the edge of the counter, her audience gathered around her as if she were a grand fire. A fire that gave them comfort during the cold, harsh storm. 

Her eyes were closed. Was she tired? Probably. She had be telling the story for a few hours now. But beside her closed eyes, she showed no other signs of fatigue. Yes, she was very much awake still. Her closed eyes must have been for effect. 

She shook her head as she continued. “She would have to wait for a long time,” she said, hands gathering the edges of her skirt. “For, you see, the next day, just as she was about to finally show Master Neloth the shard, Arara stormed into the laboratory. She grabbed the Imperial by the shoulders, and shaking her, screamed, ‘You filthy devil. How could you? How could you do such a thing?!’

“And Imogen, confused and frightened, said nothing. Said nothing and shook her head, trying to convey to the woman she knew not what she spoke of. And it must have worked, for Arara’s next words were, ‘Please tell me you didn’t do it.’

“And Imogen didn’t have to ask what. She didn’t have to ask because the scent hit her so hard, she had to squeeze her eyes shut for a moment. When she opened her eyes, she could see the blood on Arara’s hands, still wet and still warm, smudging the sleeves of Imogen’s dress. And before Imogen could ask, Arara whispered, ‘Please tell me you didn’t kill Mirihesa.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part Two


	13. Part Three: Into the Depths Chapter One: Fortress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Three: Into the Depths   
> In which all hell breaks loose on Nirn, and Imogen feels the need to fix it.

The 3rd era, year 433.

In the distance, the deep, haunting bellows of a nearby Silt Strider filled the air. Imogen took a deep breath. Early dawn was usually the only time the citadel was calm and quiet. Even though she wasn’t particularly fond of the sun, she enjoyed waking up early to savor the hour’s silence. 

A silence that was usually interrupted by screams. Screams she could hear echoing in her mind. 

~.~

Nothing could fix the inevitable, not even finding that mirror fragment. The blood on Arara’s hands was a grim reminder to the immortal girl of how fragile a life could be. 

Seeing Mirihesa’s body lying on the blood-soaked soil outside her home was chilling. Imogen had dealt with death before, from killing that fawn to hearing of her own mother’s passing, but nothing prepared her to seeing a dead body, particularly one that wasn’t an animal. Blood dripped from Mirihesa’s neck and right hip as if her neck had been sliced open while she was stabbed in the hip. Mirihesa lay on the ground, but the action (or lack thereof) was disturbing to Imogen. When people lie down to sleep, they never rest all their weight on the surface. But Mirihesa wasn’t asleep; she had no consciousness tethering her body. 

Murder was not uncommon in Sadrith Mora. In fact, later that day, Neloth explained to her that murder was a normalcy as far as the Tevlanni were concerned. 

“But why someone would kill Mirihesa is unclear,” he added. “There was nothing to be gained in the action.”

The merchant had no living relatives, or if she did, no one knew of any, so Neloth and Arara acted as her family unit when it came to taking care of the body. Both were calm, showing no signs of mourning Imogen would think a family unit should show. But while Arara was not crying, it was clear the death bothered her. Her face was very stern, and her hands shook more than usual. At first, she would not look at Imogen. 

“You were the last one to be seen with her,” Arara whispered, and that was the only explanation she would offer. 

Neloth, on the other hand, acted as if nothing was different. He went about his experiments and only thought about the funeral when Arara would ask him questions about it. But Imogen noted that he never turned Arara’s questions away. He would stop whatever it was he was working on, mull over what Arara asked, and then answer her right away. Occasionally, he could be heard mumbling to himself, saying something like, “I’ll have to remember to ask Miri to get...oh wait, she’s dead.”

Funeral preparations did not take long. There were no guests to invite. No ceremony to host. Three days after Mirihesa was killed, it was time to say goodbye to her body. When the day of the funeral arrived, only three guests were in attendance: Arara, Neloth, and Imogen. Mirihesa was wrapped in a simple cloth which bore the Telvanni insignia. Imogen thought that nice; Miri had always felt like an outcast, but at least she would be cremated as a Telvanni. The three of them carried her body out of town, deep into the mushroom forest to what Imogen assumed to be a pyre waiting for her. But when Neloth had told them they arrived at the spot, there was no pyre ready. There was no wood for burning. But there was a small enclosure surrounded by a low stone fence. Inside the enclosure stood various stone mounds. It took Imogen to recognize them.

“A graveyard?”

Arara let out a low hum but said nothing as they carried Mirihesa to an open sarcophagus. Gently, they placed her body inside and stared in silence at her blanket wrapped around her. 

When no one said anything, Imogen pressed again. “I thought Dunmer...burned their dead.”

“We do,” Arara snapped, glaring at Neloth. “But Master Neloth insisted we didn’t.” 

Imogen glanced at Neloth, who leaned one arm against the edge of the sarcophagus and leaned his chin against the other. She looked back at Arara, who stood with a hand upon each hip and her jaw set tightly. It was obvious that the two were in disagreement with what to do with Mirihesa’s body. As much as she didn’t want to get in the middle of it, Imogen couldn’t help but be curious.

“But why?” She asked Neloth. “Why don’t you want to burn her?”

For a minute, Neloth was quiet as he continued to study the insignia on the blanket. Then, he suddenly pushed himself away from the sarcophagus and started walking away. “I find the tradition a waste. It’s why I had this graveyard built.”

Imogen looked around at the other sarcophaguses. She was curious to know who else was “buried” there, but she knew better than to ask. Instead, she watched as Neloth sauntered off without speaking another word. 

“That’s it then?” She asked. “No words to her or...or anything?” She was trying to be civil, especially since she could tell Arara was upset about the whole situation, but the fact that they were going to just leave her body there without some sort of prayer or ritual seemed wrong. 

Arara huffed, but she relaxed her jaw. “Miri wouldn’t want any lofty words spoken on her behalf. No, this is how she would have wanted to go. Though I’d still prefer to cremate her. But I wouldn’t dare go against Master Neloth’s orders.

“She should feel honored though,” Arara added as she, too, turned to walk away. “I think Master Neloth has some of his family buried here.”

And just like that, Imogen was left alone with Mirihesa’s corpse. They hadn’t even bothered to seal her up. As Imogen peered inside the vessel, she was tempted to pull down the blanket and look upon Mirihesa’s faced one last time. But she resisted the temptation. She knew it would do her no good. No, she wanted to remember Mirihesa when she was smiling after she had found the shard for Imogen, not wide-eyed in shock surrounded in her own blood. Instead, she studied the insignia on the blanket. In Cyrodiil, she knew people would place flowers with the departed. But Imogen had no flowers to give. Before she even realized she was doing it, Imogen undid her hair, untying the bright red ribbon that was holding the braid. She tied the ribbon into a bow and gently placed the bow on top of the insignia. Imogen closed her eyes for a few moments. With a deep, shaky breath, she eyed Mirihesa’s motionless body once more before struggling to close the sarcophagus. It took some maneuvering, but she managed to get it closed. But even with the sarcophagus closed, Imogen couldn’t bring herself to leave Mirihesa’s side. A breeze picked up, blowing Imogen’s hair in her face, but she didn’t even bother to fix it. With a hand on the lid, Imogen stood there, silent, barely thinking. 

“It’s a shame what happened to your friend,” a voice sang out. 

It wasn’t the voice that made Imogen’s blood turn to ice. It was the feeling of dread that washed over her. Without turning, Imogen knew who was leaning against the stone wall, a hip cocked, arms akimbo, a smirk on her face. Without looking, Imogen could see Aeryn push herself off the wall and start to saunter towards her. And Imogen couldn’t figure out why she felt this familiar sensation, this feeling that was trying to tell her something but she just couldn’t figure out what. 

And, without a single shred of evidence, without any hint of doubt, Imogen knew at once that Aeryn was the reason Mirihesa lay inside the graveyard. 

Aeryn laughed as if she could read Imogen’s thoughts. “It’s a damn shame,” she continued as she reached the sarcophagus. She leaned her elbows on it and rested her chin in her hands. “I mean, she wasn’t the one I was looking for. But you know that, don’t you, sweetheart.” 

“What do you want?” Imogen whispered, but she knew from Aeryn’s words that the Halfling meant for her to be the one they were burying. 

Aeryn ignored her. “I mean, I knew you had been staying at her house, so when I saw her walking in through the door, I had assumed it was you. I should have been more careful, I mean really. Not that she went to waste or anything, but still.” 

Imogen felt like a pile of rocks were resting in her stomach, hard, pointy rocks that were trying to saw their way out. That feeling...that sensation. It kept pulling her towards Aeryn despite how afraid Imogen was of the Halfling. She had felt this feeling before. Not when she was heading to Morrowind. Not when she discovered the University. No, those sensations were like pieces of string being dropped along the ground and Imogen just happened to follow them. This feeling was like a rope was tied around Imogen’s waste and it was pulling her towards Aeryn. Just like when she…

After she…

When she first turned

When she first turned

And she met Quaril. 

Much like a startled doe, Imogen took off running, but Aeryn was right at her heels. The Halfling nabbed Imogen by the hair and took hold of her shoulder. With her free hand, Imogen unsheathed her dagger and dug it into Aeryn’s wrist. Aeryn hissed and let go for just a second, but it was enough time for Imogen to scurry off again. She hiked her skirt as high as she could as she darted through the mushroom forest. She could hear Aeryn right behind her, but Imogen didn’t dare turn around to look. She zig-zagged through the trees, praying that she kept her footing, knowing she just had to make it back to Sadrith Mora. Just as the town was in sight, Imogen could practically feel Aeryn’s breath on her neck. Digging through her bag, Imogen procured a bottled, recently filled with fresh Chukar blood, and tossed it over her shoulder. She heard a smash and a cry, but she did not look back. Instead, she forced her body to run faster than it could the final stretch to Sadrith Mora. 

When she reached the settlement, Imogen did not stop running. She ran straight to Tel Naga and only stopped running once she was inside. Arara, who had only been back for a handful of minutes before Imogen barged in, jumped when she saw her. Imogen imagined she must have looked demented: panting, hair wild from running, and her dress hiked up past her knees. 

“What happened?” Arara asked, walking towards the girl. But Imogen shook her head and Arara stopped in her tracks. 

As Imogen tried to catch her breath, that feeling of dread lingered. She couldn’t shake it. Even as her breathing relaxed and her heartbeat settled, she didn’t feel safe. After a few moments, she released the grip she had on her skirt, and she straightened her hair as best she could before clearing her throat. 

“Please tell Master Neloth that I’m awfully sorry but that I am leaving Sadrith Mora effective immediately.”

~.~

After watching the sky change colors with the dawn for a few minutes, Imogen took a breath and made her way to the lower levels of the citadel. While it was still dreadfully early, Imogen had nothing better to do than to get a head start on her chores. As She scampered into the kitchen, she heard Gradus cough as he stoked the fire. The old Imperial mumbled something about how there was too much dust and how Imogen needed to clean more often. Imogen just nodded and said, “Of course, Gradus,” as she passed him, despite the fact she had just swept the place the previous day. 

Down the hall from the kitchen lay the servants’ quarters, where Imogen slept. She had to share these lodgings with ten other servants, but Imogen was used to sharing small sleeping spaces from when she would stay with a town’s local Mage’s Guild. The only difference was, of course, she was now a Vampire and had to hide that little secret from her roommates. 

Imogen pulled her apron off the hook and tied it tightly around her waist. While sweeping the floors of an Imperial fortress wasn’t something she had imagined herself doing as a small child, and while the job certainly had its drawbacks, Imogen was content to have a steady, routine task to set her mind at ease each and every day. Sweeping was somewhat soothing; she was able to do her job and contemplate the decisions which brought her there. 

When she had told Arara she was leaving Sadrith Mora, Imogen meant that very moment. Without hesitation, Imogen gathered the belongings she could easily carry and headed out. She had no destination in mind, and unlike other times in her life when she had a strange sensation guiding her, Imogen felt utterly alone. Nothing pulled her forward. Nothing beckoned her towards a new beginning. No, only fear pushed her away, told her where she shouldn’t go, but never where she could go. Imogen wanted to get as far away from Sadrith Mora and Areyn and Mirihesa and Tel Naga as she possibly could. Only five months in Morrowind and Imogen was already sick of the place. She longed to return to Cyrodiil, but she wasn’t sure where she would even go. After striking out to find the Tear’m, Imogen couldn’t imagine herself returning to the University, despite having what she believed to be a shard of it. In fact, she didn’t want to be anyplace that dealt with magic or had many people. And while she knew the invitation to Quaril’s would still be open, Imogen couldn’t bring herself to burden the Altmer any more than she already had. There was nowhere for her to go except for “away.”

Imogen spent two weeks alone in the mushroom forests of Vvardenfell. During this time, she didn’t do much thinking. Just running and camping, trying to listen to the silence of the forest, listening for any signs of Aeryn. Despite never hearing anything following her, Imogen could hardly rest. Always on edge, she wouldn’t light a fire for herself. She ate very little of real food or even of blood. Before leaving Sadrith Mora, Imogen had fed only a week before. She knew her limit at that time was about four weeks or so before she would need to feed again, but something told her not to, not while she was so afraid of Aeryn. Imogen could hear Quaril reminding her that the longer she goes without blood, the more Vampiric she will become. And Imogen as a Vampire was surely stronger than Imogen as a mortal. Even without sleep or food, Imogen felt herself getting stronger. Every night, as the world lay in darkness, Imogen could see well into the dark. She could make out the shapes of the trees and hear the animals hiding in the denser parts of the forest. Her jaw grew tighter as her teeth hardened. She could feel her body growing cold. But she felt safe. 

Onwards she traveled. The sun was high in the sky, and she could feel every inch of her skin crawl under the sun’s rays. Her hair hung loosely around her neck, and she would tug at her sleeves to try to cover every inch of skin she possibly could. Imogen felt it hard to concentrate as she walked. At first, she attributed this to the sun, but as even as she traveled through the dark, she would find her mind racing. Every sound she heard set her on edge. She would tense up, crouching low on her haunches as she listened for the sound to return. When she felt threatened, she could feel herself scowling, bearing her teeth to whatever could possibly be lurking after her. Once, she heard some hunters in the distance- she could just make out their bows- and she uttered the most unearthly growl from where she hid. She only stopped when she heard them scampering away.

Eventually, Imogen wormed her way out of the forest. And in the distance, a towering stonework structure stood. In the daylight, she could barely make out what sort of building it could be, but she found herself lumbering towards it. By nightfall, she could see fluttering flags and torches. She froze in her tracks. All at once, she knew what it was she was headed for. Civilization.

Without a single thought, Imogen scampered towards the structure, but she stopped a little ways from it. By now, she realized it was a fortress, but not just any fortress. No, this was a fortress of her home, of her people. The Empire was here. The Empire had not forgotten about her in this horrible place. As her eyes watered, she sulked around the bulwark until she came across the stable. She begged the Empire to forgive her as she snapped the neck of and sunk her teeth deep into a sleeping hen, drinking every last drop of blood the poor creature could muster. Once fed, Imogen found herself a quiet alcove to rest. To rest and remember that she wasn’t really that terrible creature lurking in the forest.

By late afternoon the following day, Imogen felt as close to human again as she could muster. 

Once she felt comfortable enough to walk into the sunlight, Imogen crept out of her hiding spot and, with a deep breath, headed towards the citadel’s entrance. She was cautious and slow, knowing the guards could be wary of a stranger approaching. Indeed, the two guards posted at the gate stopped her as she neared. One started to ask why she was there, but the other cut him off and asked what had happened. A quick glance down at herself told Imogen the problem: blood spattered her clothes asked probably elsewhere where she couldn't see. Her hair was in tangles. Her mourning gown was tattered. They were reminders of what brought her there. A thousand explanations danced on Imogen’s tongue, and she even started mouthing at least three of them. But before any coherent words could stumble out of her mouth, Imogen found herself shake before the tears started falling. The guards looked concerned and Imogen pressed a hand to her mouth and bend over, clutching her stomach. She didn't like crying in front of others, but now she couldn't stop. 

Before she knew it, one of the guards was escorting her inside. He pitied her. Imogen was kin, a fellow Imperial trapped in a foreign land. He must have assumed her tears and bloody appearance were caused by the local dangers, not because of her own monstrosity. And Imogen let him believe it. She let him mutter on and on about savages and brutes because it was much easier than explaining the truth. 

A loud Clank! caught her attention as they were passing the forge. Clank! Clank! Clank! A woman hammered away at a piece of ironwork. Her dark skin stood out to Imogen. Imperial skins could range from a light, almost creamy complexion to a rather ruddy tan, depending on what side of the valley their family stemmed from. But this woman's skin was much too dark to be an Imperial. A Redguard. 

Imogen tried to call out to the woman, but her voice was shaky and low. She tried again, despite the guard’s shocked expression, because Imogen recognized her at once. Her attempts failures, Imogen broke away from the guard -a rather easy task since he wasn't holding her against her will- and ran up to the Redguard.

“Please, please!” Imogen pleaded, gripping onto the Redguard’s arm, her voice still shaking and the tears still streaming. “Please tell me you remember me!”

At first, the Redguard tried to tug away, but she squinted at Imogen before flashing her eyebrows. “Why, you're the Imperial from Lurkblak’s group...the mage, right?”

Still hysterical, Imogen smiled and nodded. “Yes, yes! I’m sorry but I can't recall your name. But I recognized you. You, you were very kind. And I don't know what to do. I'm so sorry.”

The Redguard hushed her, gently pulling her hands off her arm. “Just sit tight, dear. I just need to finish this gauntlet then I'm all yours. Just take a deep breath and I'll be right there.”

~.~

Imogen was unsure of why she desperately clung to Morena. Perhaps it was because they had traveled to Morrowind together. Or perhaps it was how motherly Morena acted. Or simply it could have been because Imogen had spent 5 months in Sadrith Mora, surrounded by Elves, and she needed a touch of something Human again. Whatever the reason, Imogen clung, physically and metaphorically. 

Morena didn't ask too many questions. All she wanted to know was if Imogen was okay. But Imogen let word after word pour out of her mouth, telling Morena almost every detail of what had happened since they last met. Imogen left out certain details, like finding the Tear’m and that, of course, she was a Vampire. But she gave just enough information for Morena to pity her. Out of the kindness of her heart, Morena arranged for Imogen to stay at the fort, just until she could get her life together. Imogen couldn't stay for free though; to earn her stay, she worked as a maid, cleaning and assisting with other humdrum tasks. 

She must have been good at her job. That could explain why no one complained when she remained there for five years. 

Five years. despite feeling the itch to leave, the desire to move on, Imogen felt herself frozen there. She was homesick, but she had no idea where home was anymore. Maybe that's why she stayed there.

Once she was settled in that life, she reached out for Quaril. She had written to him before she had left for Morrowind, but she hadn’t heard back from him. At first, she wasn't sure if she should try to contact him again, but the image of Mirihesa’s body and Aeryn’s twisted smile forced her hand. All in all, she was scared for her own safety. Quaril was the only other vampire she knew; perhaps he could offer her advice. She also thanked him again for all that he has done for her, including sending her the money that helped fund her trip in the first place. 

Imogen was quite surprised when she received a letter only a few months later. Quaril was concerned about the situation Imogen was in. “I don't know how well you've gotten with your magic,” he wrote, “but I do not think it would be wise for you to cross paths with this woman again. If she is as dangerous as you fear, I suspect you would be no match for her. Keep your wits about you. Avoid being alone. Keep yourself hidden amongst people. Strong or not, this Aeryn is not going to want to draw attention. If she's smart, she'll keep her Vampirism a secret from as many mortals as possible.

“As for the money,” he added at the end, “You know I am glad to help you in any way I can, but I did not send you any money before you left. You must have another benefactor.”

His words chilled Imogen.

For the most part, the years were quiet. She fell into a routine rather quickly and did her duties without complaints. But her nights were another story. She didn't know why, but each night, when no one was around, Imogen would pull the Tear’m shard out of her bag and admire it. Her eyes would trace every inch so that when she stuffed it away, she could still see it in her mind. She would then go to sleep. And that's when she would see her face.


	14. Gates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Three: Into the Depths   
> In which all hell breaks loose on Nirn, and Imogen feels the need to fix it.
> 
> Also, sorry for the delay! I've been having massive writer's block with this story. I know exactly what I want happen, but writing it is another story. I'm hoping that updating this will get me on the right track.

“Not yet Imogen. Don’t close your eyes just yet.”

Her voice was like a dream: twisted, faded, and confusing. Soft yet distorted as if drowning in water. Loud, echoing off of every wall in Imogen’s mind. 

The first time she heard it, Imogen shot up from her bed. The room was dark; she could hear the quiet hum of her roommates’ breathing as they all slumbered. Imogen took a gulp of air, eyes flickering around the room, trying to discern where the voice came from. Propped up on her elbows, Imogen allowed her head to hang back, casting her eyes to the ceiling. Nothing but stone walls greeted her. Slowly, Imogen lay herself back down on the mattress, folding her hands just under her bust. 

Imogen lay there, but she didn’t close her eyes. She kept waiting for the voice to return, waiting so she could quickly locate its source. But the voice couldn’t be heard. With a shaky breath, Imogen closed her eyes, but still the voice didn’t return.

“It was nothing,” Imogen murmured softly. “It was nothing but a dream.”

Eventually, Imogen was able to drift back to sleep. A quiet, shallow slumber, like an animal ever aware while asleep. 

“I've tried to warn you,” the voice returned. “Really I did. But I suppose it is time.”

Again, Imogen’s eyes snapped open. Her breathing was cut off as if a hand clenched around her throat. She couldn't believe it. She tried to close her eyes to pretend the figure wasn't there. 

Billowing in the air was a dark fabric, dark and exquisite. It belonged to a simple yet eloquent dress, a shadowy black silk bodice with a blood red trim, the corset laced tightly to accentuate the owner’s breasts. The dress had no sleeves, exposing the woman’s pale, slender arms and delicate hands which held a wooden fan, playfully covering her dark red lips and playful smirk.

But none of that was any importance to Imogen. The eyes were what kept her on edge. They were a sharp, carnelian color, almost like a Dunmer’s. But only the woman’s irises were red. First, Imogen concluded she was a vampire, but something was off.

Mostly what was off was that this figure was reminiscent of Imogen’s mother. 

Imogen tried to speak, but the invisible grasp on her neck tightened. Emilia chuckled, a chiding smile peeking out from behind the fan. Imogen recognized that fan. It was a gift from father; he gave it to Emilia on their wedding day. 

“I suppose I was being easy on you,” Emilia continued, crossing her ankles underneath her. She sat as if on a chair, not as if she were floating midair. “You are my only child, after all. But I suppose it is time. Time for you to cross the line.”

Again, Imogen tried to speak, to ask what was happening, what Emilia meant. But again, Imogen could squeeze no words out. Her eyes widened as if trying to communicate. 

Emilia sighed. “I knew you would put up a fight. You always did. But it's time, Imogen. Time for you to cross over. Time for you to die.”

A chill ran down Imogen’s spine. She felt everything within her stop. Time to die? But before she could figure out what was happening, Morena was shaking Imogen awake, asking her what was wrong. Drenched in a cold sweat, Imogen panted, shaking her head to try to say she was fine. Even though she was far from fine. 

And ever since that night, Emilia returned to her every single night. Emilia’s red eyes would bore into hers, demanding to know why Imogen wasn't dead. Why wasn't she dead yet Emilia was? It wasn't fair!

A few weeks later,Emilia was joined with another. This figure had soulless black eyes which dripped onto her cheeks. Her skin was slathered in bright red blood. Her teeth were just as jagged as Emilia’s. And while Emilia spoke with a soothing voice, this figure’s voice was loud and shrill, harshly demanding Imogen cross the line. 

“It's your fault I'm dead!” Mirihesa’s ghastly figure screamed. “You should be the one drowning, not me!”

The first night Imogen saw Mirihesa floating above her, tears ran down her face. “I'm sorry,” Imogen choked out. “I'm so sorry.”

“That's not good enough!” Mirihesa shrieked. “You really think your pity will bring me back? No! earn your forgiveness; cross the line.”

No matter what Imogen did, she couldn't stop seeing these figures. She tried going without sleep, but she would just start seeing them any time she began to doze off.

After the first year, the phantoms started showing up less frequently, and to Imogen, it made it worse. She never knew which night she was going to be visited by them. Still, Imogen would take a deep breath and try to go about her day pretending she didn't just see her dead mother and friend. That they weren't demanding she die. 

The phantoms would never explain themselves. All they would do was blame her for their deaths and demand recompense. 

For Imogen, the phantoms were the only things she had to truly fear while staying in the fortress. When she first arrived to the citadel, Imogen was mostly afraid of two events: Aeryn finding her and people discovering that Imogen was a vampire. After all, Aeryn was either impersonating an Imperial soldier or she actually was one. Nothing could stop Aeryn from just waltzing in the fortress and finding Imogen. But Quaril’s letter seemed to hold true; the entire time Imogen stayed at the fortress, Aeryn never came. 

As for the Vampirism, Imogen found that surprisingly easy to hide. It took a few weeks of trial and error, but Imogen was eventually able to find a supply of blood. At first, Imogen wanted to feed from the animals in the stables, but since her duties did not involve the stables, Imogen could not find a reason to be there. Soldiers didn’t like her just wandering around the fortress. No, Imogen was forced to feed from human vendors. The hassle of staying at a fortress, however, was the fact that there is no quiet time. In a normal household, the family would settle down for the night and go to sleep around the same time. In the fort, however, there was always someone awake at all hours. And nobody had their own room. Soldiers bunked together, and servants shared lodgings with one another. Feeding was a matter of finding someone asleep and by themselves. 

And even if someone was asleep in a secluded area, Imogen had to worry about the fact that the majority of the inhabitants were soldiers, men and women who were trained to be on constant alert. Even when they were asleep, Imogen could practically feel them on edge. But Imogen was clever. She spent the first couple of weeks “experimenting” on some of the soldiers. She would wait until they were asleep and then make small noises. If they woke up, Imogen made some sort of excuse (“Sorry sir! I was just straightening up.”). If they stayed asleep, Imogen would make slightly louder noises and even venture to touch them. Once she had a list of deep sleepers, Imogen would feed once every three weeks. With a steady supply of blood, Imogen was able to maintain her humanity and keep up appearances. 

No, the only thing that plagued her mind were the phantoms. Once, Morena took her to visit Balmora. The city wasn’t the closest to the fort, but it belonged to House Hlaalu, the house most welcoming of the Empire. The denizens of Balmora were more inclined to do business with the soldiers. Morena needed more welding supplies, and she wanted Imogen to join her because she felt the Imperial needed to get out of the fortress. During the entire trip, Imogen was on edge. She kept waiting for Aeryn to pop out of nowhere. 

While they were in Balmora, Imogen practically clung to Morena’s side. Imogen did, however, wander off just once. She went to the local book shop and asked the owner if they had any books on Vaermina. She knew that the patron Daedra of the Dunmer were Azura, Boethiah, and Mephala, but she hoped that there would be some works about the other Princes. When she was younger, any time she had a nightmare, her mother would explain that it was just Vaermina testing her. 

“Vaermina is the Prince of Nightmares,” Emilia had explained. “If you can overcome the fear the nightmares inflict, you could become her champion.”

The young Imogen had frowned. “I don’t want to be Her champion. She scares me!”

Emilia had laughed. “But child, Vaermina is probably the reason you have such an active imagination. She fills your mind with all sorts of ideas while you play.”

Little Imogen shook her head. “But those are all fun!”

“Yes,” Emilia continued. “Because you are awake. When you are awake, you have more control of what you see and believe. Vaermina tries to fill you with fear, but you are able to counter it by pretending to be a wizard or knight or whatever it is your heart desires. Only when you sleep is She able to conquer you.”

Now, with her mother’s phantom haunting her, Imogen wasn’t too keen to relive those memories, but she was wondering if her mother was correct. Perhaps trying to commune with Vaermina could help her chase away these phantoms. Unfortunately, the shop in Balmora had no books on Vaermina. And unfortunately still, Imogen had no real way to investigating the matter on her own. Fortresses weren’t known for their extensive collection of books. And while she could send word to her colleagues back in Cyrodiil and ask for some books, she was asked to limit the number of letters she sent out of the fort. For some reason, the higher-ups in the fort were a bit on edge and were waiting for important information from Cyrodiil. 

So, Imogen spent her days cleaning, keeping an eye out for Aeryn, and occasionally drinking blood. She spent her nights waiting for and fearing a visit from either Mirihesa, her mother, or both. But at least she was with others. She was with people. And, as terrible as it may sound, she was happy to be with her own kind once again.

~.~

“Miss Imogen!”   
The 3rd era, year 433.

In the distance, the deep, haunting bellows of a nearby Silt Strider filled the air. Imogen took a deep breath. Early dawn was usually the only time the citadel was calm and quiet. Even though she wasn’t particularly fond of the sun, she enjoyed waking up early to savor the hour’s silence. 

“Miss Imogen!” The voice rang out again.

Imogen sighed. She had heard him call out the first time, but she was hoping he would leave her alone if she pretended not to hear. Yet she should have known better. 

Joining her in her solitude, Seggory Gioidia smiled his usual nervous smile, his pale green eyes dancing. Imogen didn’t bother to smile back. Instead, she kept her gaze to the sunrise in the distance. Seggory paid no mind to the fact that Imogen was trying to pay him no mind. The boy had been situated at the fort for the past three years, two years after Imogen had arrived. And that’s just how Imogen saw him: a boy. He was of the ripe age of 16, just entered the service of the Empire. He had lied about his age to begin his training, and by the time anyone found out, nobody cared. As long as you were a good soldier, the Empire would take you. 

Because of her odd situation, Imogen also had to lie about her age. She couldn’t remember how old she had told Morena she was when the two of them had first traveled to Morrowind, but luckily the Redguard didn’t remember either. Imogen started off fresh, claiming she was just 18 years old (she was, in fact, 22+15 years). She always made herself younger than her physical age, especially if she was going to remain in one spot for so long. 

“Why are you up so early, Miss?” Seggory asked her. 

At first,Imogen didn't respond. She gazed out below at the soldiers in the main courtyard. They were in the middle of their daily training. Seggory shifted from side to side, and when he looked like he was going to speak again, Imogen sighed. 

“I'm usually up this early,” Imogen murmured, still looking away. She was hoping that if she didn't pay him much attention, he'd walk away. But Seggory was like an energetic pup; the less attention you gave him, the harder he tried to get your attention. 

Imogen wondered if she was to blame. Since he was one of the deepest sleepers in the fort, Imogen fed from Seggory often. And while Imogen wasn't a very powerful Vampire, Quaril had mentioned to her before to beware of feeding from the same person too often. “A vampire's bite can become quite addictive,” he had told her. “Even if the victim is unaware of the bite, they become quite enamored with their host.”

She doubted she was that strong, yet Seggory’s puppy eyes made her wonder. 

Seggory offered her another nervous smile. “I suppose I should...let you get back to your work then, huh miss?” 

With great strength, Imogen kept her eyes from rolling and gave Seggory a stiff smile, her eyes still facing the sunrise. “That would probably be best, Seggory,” she replied, and though she didn’t want to give him any ideas that she was ever going to return his adornment, even she realized how harsh her voice sounded, though she only felt slightly guilty. Still, she added, “Besides, I’m sure you have important duties to attend to as well.”

He nodded, his sandy blond hair getting in his eyes, and Imogen instantly regretted feeling slightly guilty. “Yes, I do miss,” he started, and Imogen closed her eyes and took a deep breath, not sure if she had the patience to handle the ramblings she knew Seggory was going to prattle on about. 

But before Seggory could even begin to explain the plethora of duties he was in charge with and why they are so vital to the fortress and how, even though he was so young, he was just as vital to the fortress as those duties, Morena shouted out to her, scurrying over to the two Imperial as casually as she could. Morena was dressed in her usual tan slacks and bright red tunic, and her tight, brown curls reached for the sun. She wore her apron, but it was relatively clean compared to what Imogen was used to seeing. The Redguard must have just started her work for the day.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Morena began in a tone that made it clear she was not at all sorry. “But I need to steal Imogen away for a minute. It’s important.” 

Seggory didn’t even get a chance to object. Morena grabbed Imogen by the arm and headed towards the lower levels. Imogen started to thank the Redguard for getting her away from Seggory, but Morena explained that she really did need the Imperial’s assistance. 

“There’s an elf at the gate, and he’s causing such a commotion,” Morena explained. “Marcellus and Rexori are near close to having at fit!”

“While I’d be happy to help,” Imogen said, trying to keep up with Morena’s long legs. “I fail to see what this has to do with me.”

MOrena glanced over her shoulder, a strange look on her face. “Because he’s demanding to see you.”

At first, Imogen felt her skin grow cold. The only reason she kept moving was that Morena still held her in her grip. All that danced around Imogen’s head was the thought that Aeryn finally found the gall to approach Imogen directly and off her once and for all. 

But she said “He,” Imogen thought. The elf at the gate is a male. 

Still, as they approached the main gates, Imogen clutched onto the dagger strapped to her left hip. As they moved closer, though, and she heard the elf’s voice, Imogen was able to relax her grip.

“...besides just being an eyesore, is an insult to Dunmer everywhere,” The elf’s voice rang out. “The Empire has no right being here in the first place.”

“No right?” Marcellus snorted. “Who do you think has been keeping this godsforsaken place safe?”

“The Dunmer,” the elf replied, deadpan. “We’ve been around much longer than this...haphazardly constructed pile of rocks has been.”

Rexori sharply inhaled through his nose. “Why, I’ll have you know my great, great grandfather helped build this here fort. It’s probably one of the greatest forts in Morrowind!”

“And I’m sure the Empire is so proud that your great, great grandfather set the bar so low as to make it easier to make other forts with half the standards.”

Before Rexori could blow his top, Morena cleared her throat. “Gentlemen,” she said, stressing the “gentle” part. “If you are done acting like children, Imogen will settle this.” 

While not thrilled to have that sort of responsibility thrown at her, Imogen paid the comment no mind. Instead, she gently pulled herself away from Morena’s grasp and placed her hands on her hips. She managed to keep the tremor out of her voice, though not quite off her body, as she asked, “Master Neloth, is there something I can help with?” 

~.~

There were not many places Imogen could find privacy in the fort. Most spaces were communal. But Morena let the two use her forge as a place to talk. Unfortunately, Morena had weapons to make, so she had to work while Imogen and Neloth spoke. This made the room loud, which was both a minus and a plus. 

They both stood on the far side of the room, away from the forge. Neloth stood with his hands behind his back and a satchel by his feet. He held his head high, surveying the room every now and then. Imogen had her arms crossed under her bosom, rocking back and forth on her feet. She studied him before speaking; it had only been five years but he looked slightly different to her. His robes were a little less gaudy, though still gold in color. There was more of an earthy brown base to it, the robe itself appeared less ornate than before. His face seemed different as well, like he had aged. Well, of course he aged, Imogen thought. But it wasn’t as though he had developed more wrinkles or something of the like. No, his face just seemed older. Rougher almost. That was it: rougher. His hands, when she finally had a chance to see them, looked rough as well.

Imogen couldn’t help but wonder what he thought of her. Here she stood in front of him, wearing the same black dress she wore the last time he saw her. The only difference in her appearance would be the wear and tear of the dress itself. Her hair was a little longer, but she currently had it tied tightly in a bun. Beyond that, she looked unchanged.

“Why are you here?” Imogen started, decided it was best to just cut to the chase. When she left Tel Naga, she honestly never expected to see Master Neloth again. She figured he would have been too busy with his next attempt at eternal life to even notice her absense. Yet here he stood, and he had demanded to see her no less. 

Neloth handed her a piece of parchment he had been holding behind his back. “We had an agreement; I was to help you find the Tear’m, and you were suppose to let me study you.” 

Taking the paper, Imogen recognized it as the contract she, Neloth, and Arara had signed. She nodded. “Yes, we had made that deal.”

“You broke it,” Neloth said.

A pause. “I did not!” Imogen scoffed. “I held my end of the bargain. I let you poke and prod me; you almost drowned me for one experiment. I fail to see how I broke our deal.”

Neloth tsked. “But we weren’t finished. There were plenty more experiments I thought to run, plenty of conjectures I still wanted to test out. But you left without a single warning. And after I went through all of that trouble to find you that mirror shard.”

Imogen set her jaw. “Trouble?!” She tried to keep her voice down so Morena wouldn’t hear them, but even her passion had no match for the forge. “All the trouble you went through? Mirihesa was the one who got the shard for me. Or had you forgotten that after you left her to rot in a stone tomb?”

“If you’re going to blame me for her death,” Neloth said, “Note that she made her own choices.”

“I can’t believe you!” Imogen felt her body shaking. The tone in Neloth’s voice, how nonchalantly he spoke of Mirihesa’s death. She could hardly stand it. “I can’t believe you think you have the right to barge in here and demand an audience with me, claiming I broke my end of the bargain. It’s sheer madness!”

Neloth snorted. “Yes, and it sounds very familiar.”

Ignoring him, Imogen started pacing, hands clenching her skirt. “And how exactly did I break this deal? Yes, I left, but that means you couldn’t keep your end of the bargain either. If I wasn’t around, you couldn’t help me find the Tear’m; therefore, the deal became null and void.”

“Ah,” Neloth smirked, placing his hands on his hips. “But there is where you are wrong. You see, you left all the books on the Tear’m in my care, just like I asked. And in my spare time, I’ve been looking into it, just as I promised I would; therefore, I have actually been keeping up with my side of the bargain while you have tried to weasel your way out.” 

Stopping in her tracks, Imogen squinted at him. “I don’t believe you.”

He shrugged. “It isn’t a matter of believing me or not. It’s true. But,” he paused as he leaned over and rummaged through the satchel resting by his feet. Imogen watched as he pulled a book out, and the second she saw it, she felt a soft gasp escape her lips. Right away, she recognize the worn journal as the one Falclian had penned. Neloth held it out to her, and Imogen snatched it out of his hand as if it were her own private diary. 

“I’ve been reading through it,” Neloth explained. “Though it is a very annoy process, what with the cipher he chose to write in.”

Imogen ignored him as she flipped through the pages. She could see notes Neloth had written in the margins, and she furrowed her brows, a tad annoyed he wrote in Faclian’s journal. But while Imogen had no problem reading Faclian’s strange cipher, she imagined it might not have been so easy for Neloth. 

Closing the book, Imogen squinted at Neloth, turning her head away yet keeping her eyes trained on him. “What are you planning?”

“Whether the Tear’m exists or not is still up for debate,” Neloth replied, either ignoring Imogen’s accusatory tone or accepting it. “But you managed to find something. Whatever that shard may be, it’s something worth investigating. And perhaps it is the fabled Tear’m Ouda. Perhaps it isn’t. 

“But that is neither here nor there. I’m here for a very different reason. There is something amiss in Morrowind; I can feel it. Strange creatures have been appearing around Tel Naga, and I’ve heard word from other towns of similar incidents. Normally, I wouldn’t pay it any mind, but it has been interfering with my work. Practically no one is willing to go into the woods or travel to another town to gather supplies for my research. It is very annoying.

“Since I cannot get any of my other work done, I am forced to revisit my study of Vampirism.” 

Tapping her fingers against the book, Imogen frowned. Forced? Nothing really was demanding that he study her again, and the way he said it made it almost sound like a punishment. Was she really such a dull topic? Not that she enjoyed the thought of being studied again. 

She sighed. “And I suppose that, if I agree, you’d continue to help me find the Tear’m?” Although she was the one who asked the question, Imogen was actually quite surprised to hear it. In the five years she had resided in the citadel, she hadn’t given the Tear’m much thought. Sure, she looked at the shard almost every night, tracing her fingertips along the soft, rippling glass, but she never played with the idea of trying to find the other pieces. After all, that first shard cost her a blossoming friendship. 

But, as she asked the question, Imogen could feel a swelling in her bosom. Life at the fort was bearable, but it wasn’t for her. She wasn’t a soldier. She wasn’t a maid. Imogen had spent so many years of her life pursuing knowledge and dreaming of what fantastical phenomenon might exist in the world. The last five years had kept her safe, but Imogen couldn’t help but feel as though she had wasted those years. Nothing memorable seemed to sprout from them. 

No, it was time to move on.

“As I said,” Neloth replied. “I have already begun to. But yes, I would help you continue your search for the Tear’m.” 

Wrapping her arms around the book and holding it close to her chest, Imogen turned away from Neloth. Her month was a straight line, cheeks slightly puffed. She had much to ponder, though she had a feeling she didn’t have much time to dwell on all the details. If she didn’t answer Neloth soon, she was sure he would just grow bored and find something else to entertain himself with. But Imogen didn’t want to run into a situation without thinking it through. No, she learned her lesson from her first encounter with Neloth. 

On one hand, if she agreed to continue letting Neloth study her, Imogen could get back on track with her own research. She could leave this drab and dreary fortress and explore elsewhere. She could see the rest of Morrowind if she so desired. Maybe her research would lead her to another province, and wouldn’t that be something? On the other hand, however, she was not entirely sure what she was agreeing to. Master Neloth made it sound like they were going to keep to the original contract, meaning he could only experiment on her if she approved of it. But how did she know he was going to stick to his word? Plus, Master Neloth would surely want to continue this research from the comfort of his own home, and Imogen had no desire to return to Tel Naga or Sadrith Mora any time soon. Or ever again. That beautiful mushroom forest was tainted in her heart. 

One last idea plagued her mind. Did she even want to continue her research? Or did she just want to return to Cyrodiil, tail between her legs? Despite her initial excitement to travel and explore Morrowind, Imogen had a pang in her chest she knew could only be cured by returning to her homeland. She never imagined missing her country that much. But Imogen was never one to spend too much time in one place, and five years seemed too long a time to be in Morrowind. 

But even if she did return to Cyrodiil...what would she do?

Turning on her heels, Imogen faced Neloth and opened her mouth to tell him her answer. But before she could utter a sound, the forge’s door swung open. Seggory stood in the doorway, and while Imogen’s initial reaction was annoyance, it quickly dissolved when she saw his face. Red and sweaty, Seggory panted, hand still gripping the door’s handle. 

“Miss Morena,” he choked out. “Please, come quickly. And bring as many weapons as you can carry.”

Morena wiped her forehead and casted her green eyes evenly at Seggory. “What is the matter?”

~.~

“All Seggory could do was shake his head,” Sybil continued. Her eyes were as wide as the very character she was describing. She was hunched over slightly, faux panting as she swiveled her head slowly to look upon her audience. 

“Some of you might be old enough to remember this day. While Cyrodiil was famous for it, many forget the entire Empire fought this tragedy unfold. Seggory led the Redguard out of the forge, and our curious Imperial followed them, Master Neloth not too far behind. 

“She would never forget the tremors they felt as they ran across the cracking ground outside the fort. She would never forget the screams she heard from those around her. The creatures in the surrounding clearing, the soldiers fighting them off, those images seared her mind as well.

“The image she could never erase, however,” Sybil paused to stand upright. She gazed up towards the ceiling as if beholding something with terror in her eyes. “Was its fabrication. The ground cracked and was turn asunder, and as the world shook, large stone towers rose from the ground. A flash, a strange ripping of the very fabric of reality. 

“The Year was 433 of the 3rd Era. The Oblivion Crisis had begun.”


	15. Abscond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Three: Into the Depths  
> In which all hell breaks loose on Nirn, and Imogen feels the need to fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any grammar errors! I'm posting this while waiting for my student to show up and I don't have access to my editor.

Besides Imogen and a few others like Morena who provided a service to the Empire, only soldiers ever dwelled in the fort. But with the new turn of events, the fortress was now more crowded than ever. 

When the gate first appeared, nobody could move or utter a sound. Imogen herself was struck with such awe that she had stared at it with her mouth agaped. She didn’t even think to hide her fangs, and she hadn’t had to worry about it, for everyone else was just as busy as she was marveling and fearing the sight before them. Once the initial shock wore off, panic took its place. Soldiers and unlucky travelers alike scrambled away, unsure of what unholy creation manifested before their very eyes. Even Master Neloth seemed concerned, though he didn’t outwardly show it. He studied the fire-like aura dancing between the two stone pillars, but even he knew better than to go near it. 

For a few moments, after everyone was a good couple of yards away from it, the world was quiet. All anyone could hear was soft yet deep humming which seemed to emanate from the gate. Everyone waited. Above them, the sky grew dark, yet no clouds hid the sun. A deep red color swirled in the sky as if someone had taken a paint brush and dipped the color in. The humming continued. In an instant, the ground shook again, not as roughly as before but enough to put everyone on alert. From the gate sprung three creatures like the ones the soldiers were fighting before. Their skin was rough, scaly and tan. Their jagged teeth hung over their bottom lips, twisting their mouths and making it look like they were smiling. Seeing these creatures appear was enough to shake the people out of the trance they all appeared to be in. Some of the soldier set forth to kill the beasts while the others guided everyone back to the fort.

The Empire had many forts all over the different provinces. Usually, they were nothing more than symbols of the Empire’s reach, reminding the denizens of the province who they answered to. But the main function of any fort was to act as a shelter from war. Soldiers could congregate and plan their next attack behind walls of stone. But now the fort felt like a prison. No one felt safe behind those walls, yet no one dared to leave. The soldiers who tried to fend off the creatures never returned to the fort. 

Panic broke out during the first day, especially among the everyday citizens. If the monsters didn’t kill them, surely they would all starve to death. There was food in the fort, but that would only last for so long, and fear kept anyone from trying to find supplies. Lower ranked soldiers tried to keep the citizens calm while the higher-ups held meetings to try to figure out what to do. Racial tensions were high; most of the citizens now dwelling in the fort were Dunmer, and they didn’t exactly feel safe among the Imperial soldiers. Some of the Dunmer exclaimed that the soldiers would use them as fodder. Some of the soldiers would sneer and even threaten to kick people out, which didn’t help settle the panic at all. 

Without a word, Morena guided Imogen back into the smelting room and bolted the door.

“Are you okay?” Morena asked her. 

Imogen nodded, closing her eyes and taking a breath. “Yes, yes I am fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” Imogen replied, her voice slightly harsher than she had intended. But instead of taking offense, Morena nodded. 

“Any idea what that was?” Morena asked. 

At first, Imogen shook her head, but something made her pause. “I’m not sure. But something about it seems...familiar.”

Morena’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve seen it before?”

Again, Imogen shook her head. “No, never. But I feel like I’ve at least heard about it before. Or perhaps read about it. I’m not sure. I’ve read a lot of books during my studies; I’m sure whatever this thing is has popped up in one of them. If only I could remember what it was…”

Despite the situation, Morena smiled. “I’ve never heard you talk so fast.”

Before Imogen could respond, someone pounded on the door. The girls knew it wasn’t a monster, but Morena didn’t want too many people entering the forge. With so much panic in the air, she was afraid of people getting their hands on the weapons inside. Who knows what they would do?

“What do you want?” Morena called out facing the door and gently pushing Imogen behind her.

“I know she’s in there. We aren’t finished talking yet.” Imogen sighed and walked over to the door. Even though the thick wood she would recognize that demanding voice. 

She unbolted the door and let Master Neloth in before rebolting them all in. He stood with his arms crossed as if she had locked herself in a room to personally offend him. But he said nothing about it. 

“There’s been a change of plans,” Master Neloth stated. Imogen wanted to tell him this was obvious, but he didn’t give her the chance. “I’m not interested in studying you anymore, at least not at the moment.”

Morena cocked a brow at him. “Why would you want to study Imogen?”

“Let me guess,” Imogen butted in, hoping Morena wouldn’t notice the quick change in topic. “You want to study whatever it is that manifested outside the citadel.” Although the gate was dangerous, it was certainly a wonder, and Imogen knew that Neloth couldn’t help but want to study it. In fact, Imogen felt her bosom swell just from mentioning the idea. She felt guilty in her sudden excitement, especially since people were in danger and some had even died. But she couldn’t help herself.

“Of course,” Master Neloth replied. “After all, it’s not every day a gate to Oblivion opens up.” 

The two humans faltered.

“You know what it is?” Morena demanded.

“A gate to Oblivion?” Imogen asked at the same time. 

Neloth shifted on his feet. “Yes, an Oblivion gate. I’ve read about them, and believe me, there isn’t much to read about them. They are very rare, especially since they shouldn’t be able to exist on Nirn in the first place. That’s why one showing up is very convenient.”

“Convenient?” Morena huffed, placing her hands on her hips. “We must have a different definition of convenient. Didn’t you see those creatures coming out of the gate?”

“Yes,” Neloth answer, smirking. “They were fascinating. Probably some form of lesser Daedra.”

Morena sighed. “Imogen, would you please talk some sense into your elf friend?”

With a frown, Imogen asked, “You said it shouldn’t be possible for an Oblivion gate to appear on Nirn. Why is that?” 

“Oh,” Neloth tutted, lazily waving a hand in the air. “Something about the Emperor and blood and whatnot. It’s all a bunch of Imperial nonsense. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that there is one readily available for us to investigate.”

Imogen blinked. “Us?”

He shrugged as if it was obvious. “Of course. We still have a deal, remember? Besides, Telvanni wizards don’t get their hands dirty; we have others to do that for us.”

While Imogen could have argued that the deal only said Imogen had to allow Neloth to study her, she knew it wouldn’t do her any good. Neloth seemed adamant on studying the Oblivion gate and was delusional enough to think Imogen was going to help him. 

As she thought about it, though, she couldn’t help but want to agree with him. Being a maid in an Imperial fort was a far cry from anything Imogen ever wanted to do with her life, and she was starting to get restless. After spending years pursuing academia, Imogen couldn’t handle the quiet, mundane life she had been leading the past five years. Even just having the conversation with Neloth about a prospective research subject had her heart racing. She could practically feel her eyes bugging out, though she tried to hide how excited she felt. 

Morena frowned. “While I don’t like how happy you are about this gate showing up,” she said, looking at Neloth. “Studying it might be the best way to get it to go away.”

“Then we should start at once!” Imogen said hastily, happy to hear Morena was on board with the idea as well. “I-I mean, the sooner we start, the quicker we can solve the problem.” 

Morena was about to add something, but another knock came from the door. “Miss Morena,” Someone shouted from the other side. “Let me in. It’s an emergency.”

Worry spread across Morena’s face. The voice belonged to Idorta, a member of the auxiliary unit. She didn’t come by the forge often, but Morena knew the Imperial answered to the Legate. Whatever it was, it had to be important. 

When Morena opened the door, worry and confliction crossed Idorta’s face as she regarded Morena. “We just heard word from Cyrodiil,” Idorta started. Imogen was shocked. She knew the Empire had its ways, but she couldn’t fathom how they were able to know about what happened in Morrowind already. 

“And?” Morena prompted, noting her hesitation.

Idorta swallowed. “The Emperor is dead. We have orders to pull out of Morrowind and return at once to Cyrodiil.”

~.~

Usually, when an Imperial soldier receives an order, especially an order directly from Cyrodiil, he or she is supposed to act with no questions. But neither Morena nor Imogen was a soldier, and they both had a thousand questions to ask.

“What do you mean pull out of Morrowind?”

“The Emperor is dead?”

“Doesn’t the Empire know what is happening here?”

“How could this be possible?”

“We can’t just leave these people to die!”

“He’s guarded at all times!”

Imogen knew she should have been like Morena and worried more about the current situation, but she was too caught up in the fact that her Emperor was dead. Maybe it was because she was an Imperial and had lived in the Imperial City, but that struck too close to home for her liking. Hearing the Emperor was dead was almost like hearing about her mother being dead all over again. Almost. 

Unsure of how to answer all of their questions at once, Idorta shrugged. “I’m just telling you what the Legate said. Whatever is going on out there is apparently happening everywhere.” Imogen knew she was referring to the Oblivion gate. “They’re pulling us out to defend the homefront.”

“We can’t abandon these people,” Morena reiterated, stressing every word. 

Again, Idorta shrugged. “It’s an order.”

Master Neloth snorted as if he were going to say something, but he kept his mouth shut. Eyeing him curiously, Imogen wondered if he was going to mock the Empire again. She knew he didn't hide his disdain for the government in Cyrodiil. In fact, she noted most people didn't seem fond of them. Glancing at Morena,Imogen saw the doubt even in Morena’s eyes. 

“The Legate is worried about a revolt,” Idorta continued. “She only wants small groups of soldiers to leave at a time, less we draw attention.”

Morena frowned, placing her hands on her hips. “The people would have every right to revolt. We’re here to protect them, not turn out tails at the first sign of danger.”

“Our job is to serve the Empire,” Idorta retorted, her tone indicating that she was growing tired of this argument. “And the Empire needs us back in Cyrodiil. We need to protect the capital from...whatever is happening.”

Imogen watched as Morena set her jaw. It was obvious Morena wanted to argue more but knew it wouldn’t do any good. As Idorta turned to leave, she stopped to regard Imogen. “You should leave too,” Idorta advised. “Without the soldiers here, the natives would probably tear you apart. The brutes...”

While Imogen’s experience in Morrowind would lead her to agree with the soldier, she flinched at the brusque way it had been said. Perhaps it was because Neloth was in the room, but Imogen felt the accusation against the Dunmer was too harsh. Yes, she had faced some hardships ever since she arrived in Morrowind, and yes most of those hardships were from the people themselves, but Imogen would hardly call them brutes. Watching Idorta head for the door, Imogen wondered if the reason she had been treated so badly in Morrowind was because of people like Idorta.

Before closing the door, Idorta looked over her shoulder. “I expect you ready in one hour,” she said to Morena. As soon as the door was shut, Morena stuck her tongue out and then turned on her heels towards her forge.

Neloth crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “So, the Empire is finally pulling out of Morrowind. Today couldn’t get better.”

Wiping around, Imogen glared at him. “People are dying! How could you say such a thing and mean it?”

“People die all the time; do you expect me to be sad about it every time it happens?” He answered her question with an even voice, but Imogen had noticed the slight hesitation before he spoke. Had her outburst surprised him? 

Meanwhile, Morena stood at her forge, leaning her hands against the anvil. Her eyes were fixed on her hammer which lay there, waiting for its master to shape another weapon. Imogen could tell there was a lot on the Redguard’s mind. She recalled traveling to Morrowind with Morena. She had accidentally offend Morena when she called the Redguards Morena’s people. Morena had exlained to her that she was born in Cyrodiil, so Cyrodiil was her home. 

“We share blood and ancestry,” Morena had conceded. “But you cannot just lump us all together. Yes, I am a Redguard, but Cyrodiil is my home. I may not be a soldier, but I pledge my loyalty to my Empire.” 

In all of Imogen’s years, she had never questioned her loyalty to the Empire, but now she watched as she inferred that Morena was questioning hers. Imogen pursed her lips, watching Morena. The Imperial wanted to say that Morena needed to listen to the order, that it was her duty to obey. But something about how intently Morena stared at the hammer made Imogen pause. If the roles were reversed, if Imogen had been ordered to leave, would she? Thinking about it, she realized she never had someone she had to report to. Yes, while at the University, she worked with some higher-classed wizards, and she had to follow the college’s rules, but she was free to leave whenever she desired. And when she was younger, she, of course, had to listen to her parents, but she ended up leaving them without word. Would she have obeyed this order and leave all those citizens behind? Honestly, even if Morena stayed, what good would it do? Could one person make a difference, or Morena end up dead with the others?

Swiftly, Morena pushed herself away from the anvil, picking up her hammer as she did. She tucked the hammer into her belt as she started shoving various swords, spears, and other weapons into crates, brows furrowed as she did. She bit her lip as she sealed one crate and started on another. 

“You’re going to leave?” Imogen guessed, understanding the decision but sad to see the Redguard go. 

Morena shook her head, which surprised Imogen. The blacksmith continued packing weapons away and offered no further explanation. 

Imogen inched closer. “Then why are you…?”

“I made these weapons,” Morena explained, sealing another crate. “But it was with the Empire’s money. I refuse to leave, but I can’t keep these. I’ll send them off in my stead. That will have to satisfy the Empire, because I cannot.”

Watching Morena pack away the weapons, Imogen could see that giving away all those weapons pained her. And Imogen could understand why. If you spent so much time creating something, wouldn’t you hate to let it go? Though it could be argued that Morena was going to have to give the weapons up anyway, but for some reason, this felt different. Like she didn’t have a choice. 

“How much trouble do you think you’ll get in,” Imogen asked, biting her lip. “For not following orders?”

Morena shrugged, not looking at her. “Not sure. I’m not a soldier, so I don’t think it’d be considered treason. But I don’t know that for sure. Maybe it is. I don’t know,” she sighed. “But I just...I can’t leave. I can’t leave these people knowing that that...thing is out there. I might not be a soldier, but I can fight. I can at least try to help.”

Unsure of what else to say, Imogen picked up a few swords and helped Morena pack them away. Neloth watched, though he seemed to not pay attention. He was deep in thought, but Imogen couldn’t decide whether that was good or not. She figured she would wait and see. 

~.~

Since they were trying to leave in secret, there was no huge commotion when Morena didn’t leave with the other soldiers. Yet the glare the Legate bore let everyone know just how she felt about the betrayal. After the first group left, another group followed a few hours later. And then another group. And another. By the time the citizens in the fortress caught on, the soldiers were gone. Outraged, the travelers stormed off, hoping they could find their ways home safely. Morena offered to assist, but the Dunmer didn’t want her help. They must have figured she would abandon them just like the soldiers did. 

Just Morena, Imogen, and Master Neloth remained at the fort. Since it was close to the Oblivion gate, Neloth saw no reason for them to head back to Tel Naga. Instead, he and Imogen set up a pseudo-lab in the abandoned servants’ quarters. They pushed the beds to the edges of the room and lined the tables. Neloth didn’t like not having all of his supplies with him, but he realized that there wasn’t a moment to spare. 

“How exactly are we going to study the gate?” Imogen asked as she was pushing a bed against the wall.

Neloth stood in the middle of the room, hand on his chin, assessing the surroundings. While Imogen did the heavy lifting, Neloth planned the room’s new layout. He knew exactly how he wanted the room to look. He tapped his index finger against his chin. “I’ve been wondering that myself. We could always go inside.”

Imogen nearly lost her balance. “Go in? We don’t even know where it leads!”

He snorted. “Well, Oblivion of course.”

Imogen shot him a glare, but he wasn’t facing her. “Yes, I realize that. But Oblivion is a rather vague answer. There are many plains of Oblivion. We don’t know which one it will lead to.”

“Which is exactly why we are studying it.”

“But isn’t it foolish to rush in without any ideas as to where we’ll end up?”

“Is it?”

Pushing the last of the beds, Imogen straightened her back. “Of course it is!” She exclaimed while stifling a groan. The beds were a lot heavier than they looked. “There’s a huge difference between wandering into one of Sanguine’s realms and wandering into, say, Cold Harbor.”

Neloth paused. “I suppose. But it’s more fun.”

Instead of arguing, Imogen just shook her head. She realized there was just no reasoning with Neloth at this point. Besides, she had no idea how to figure out which realm they’d end up in. The only way seemed to be to enter. Plus, if they entered the gate, maybe they could figure out a way to stop the Daedra from coming out. And maybe they could figure out why the gate was here in the first place. Neloth had said the gate shouldn’t have been able to materialize. Despite not wanting to put the Redguard in danger, Imogen had sent Morena out in search of research material. The researcher in Imogen wanted to get as much background information on the gate as she could, and while Neloth said he knew about the gate, he was too distracted by the project to really feel Imogen in. No, if she wanted to learn about the gate, she was going to have to do some digging herself. 

With the room now set up to Neloth’s liking, he flitted around the room, looking for supplies to act as vials and other such research paraphernalia. Unsure of what to do, Imogen watched. She noted that while she and Neloth were both researchers, they took different roles. Neloth was a manipulator; he enjoyed doing physical experiments to see what the outcomes would be. Imogen was the scholar; she wanted to learn the history of the topic and gain insight from the past. As Neloth busied himself with thinking about what to do next, Imogen reflected on what had already occurred. 

As the minutes passed, Imogen started to grow worried. She knew it would take time for Morena to find materials, but she was starting to think she should have gone with her. Not that she would have been much help in a fight, but at least she’d know Morena was safe. Now she couldn’t even look for the woman; Imogen had no idea which direction she left in or which town she tried to travel to. 

“Do you think Miss Morena is okay?” Imogen asked, biting her lip.

Neloth hummed in response.

Glancing at the door, Imogen added, “Suppose she got hurt…”

Again, Neloth hummed. 

Now her worry was turning to annoyance. Glaring, Imogen whipped around to face Neloth. “Oh I’m sure you wouldn’t care, would you? If someone got hurt doing your dirty work, you wouldn’t even bat an eye. We’re just pawns to use at your disposal. Just like…” Imogen trailed off, unable to speak the name she was about to say. 

During her tirade, Neloth had been tinkering with some liquids. He was mixing them together, and the color combinations seemed familiar to Imogen. Health potions, Imogen realized. 

“Do you mourn every person who dies?” Neloth asked, not taking his eyes away from the jar. 

Imogen flinched. She wasn’t actually expecting him to say anything. “Well...no, not every person. But no matter who the person is, I feel sad knowing they have passed on.”

“But if you know them…?”

“...if I know them,” Imogen echoed. “Then yes, of course I mourn them.”

Neloth snorted. “Of course you do. It’s written all over your face. Or rather your clothes. Yet why? Why do you mourn these people? Why waste the time?”

“Waste…” Imogen could hardly repeat the words. She took a slow breath in, eyes unfocusing for a second before exhaling. Deliberately, she said, “Mourning someone isn’t a waste of time. That person’s life is now over. It’s terrible.”

He rolled his eyes. “Death happens to everyone. It is a part of life. It makes no sense to mourn it.” He pointedly eyed her dress. “Especially at the level you do.”

Stifling a huff, Imogen sharply turned her head away. She couldn’t tell what she was more mad about, his lack of empathy for others or the fact that he made her feel like a fool. What did he mean, “at the level” she does? What was wrong with mourning those who were gone? Especially with her condition. Imogen would continue to live on while those she cared about would perish in the ground.

The two of them continued to work separately in silence. Imogen made it a point to not look in his direction, though she had a feeling he didn’t notice nor did he care. She wasn’t sure why this bothered her. She wanted Neloth to notice that she was trying to ignore him. 

Finally, the door swung open and a overladen Morena stepped inside. Instantly, Imogen ran over her and took some of her load. “By Mephala’s web, I thought you dead!”

Sighing from relief as she plopped a box on a table, Morena shook her head. “What, that’s how much faith you have in me?”

Imogen didn’t answer. The situation mirrored too closely to the last time she was able to speak with Mirihesa. Well, the last time she spoke with an alive Mirihesa. The Dunmer had actually just visited her dreams the previous night. 

“It’s not that she didn’t have faith,” Neloth responded for her. “It’s just that she didn’t want to have another soul to cry over.”

“Did you run into any Daedra?” Imogen interceded, changing the subject so quickly that it was obvious.

Morena shook her head, not bothering to comment on Imogen’s lack of subtlety. “No, but I saw some from a distance wreaking havoc on a nearby farm. I wanted to help but...well, to be honest, I don’t think I would have been much help. I can make weapons, but using them is a different story.”

Frowning, Imogen reached into the crate and started unpacking the supplies. “I shouldn’t feel grateful with all that is happening, but I’m glad we are safe. We’re probably in one of the safest spots.”

Morena sighed. “We might be surrounded by stone walls, but I’d say we are very far from being safe. A fortress is only as good as its guard. If the Dunmer on the outside can stand together, they would probably be safer than us. They would at least have numbers.”

Folding her arms against her chest, Imogen looked from Morena to Neloth and back to Morena again. It was just the three of them against whatever the Oblivion gate decided to spit out. Yes, the odds were grim. Was research really worth the risk? Imogen already knew the answer. Of course it was. She would risk her own safety to find answers she wanted. She made that clear when she set out for Morrowind in the first place. But risking someone else’s life? Not again. Not after Mirihesa. 

But something in Morena’s eyes told Imogen that the Redguard was here to stay. Maybe Morena didn’t have burning questions to answer, but she wanted to figure out what was going on and if there was anyway to stop it. Morena wasn’t risking her life to help Imogen; she had her own reasons for staying. 

Closing her eyes, Imogen shook her head. “Master Neloth, please finish making those potions and whatever other preparations you wanted to make. Morena and I will pack up what supplies we will need to carry before getting a good night’s rest. Tomorrow...tomorrow we will head out for the gate.”


	16. Acrimony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Three: Into the Depths  
> In which all hell breaks loose on Nirn, and Imogen feels the need to fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated birthday to Sara, my biggest fan! <3

Waking up the next morning was very easy for Imogen because she never fell asleep. All night, she sat up in her bed, watching as her mother’s ghost shook her head and chided her. Imogen wasn’t even sure what it was her mother was mad about anymore. She couldn’t focus on her; she was too focused on the Oblivion gate. What would happen once they stepped inside? Were they making the right choice? She still had time. She could back out. But where would she go? If the soldiers’ report was true, this problem was all over Tamriel, including home. 

 

Thinking of home, Imogen pulled out the Tear’m shard from under her pillow and peered into the watery glass. Home...it had been five years since she had seen her home. It didn’t seem like a long time. But she suddenly longed to return home. Yet even if she did, where would she go?

 

“Quaril would take me back…” she muttered quietly to herself. She tried to keep her voice down. Due to their current situation and the fear that a Daedra could burst in at any moment, Imogen, Master Neloth, and Morena bunked together in the makeshift lab. After all, they had plenty of beds to choose from.

 

Beside her, her mother scoffed. “Quaril? That Mer is the reason you’re in the mess in this first place,” Emilia pulled out her fan and began to fan herself lazily. “He should have just killed you when he had the chance.”

 

Such words from her mother would have startled her, but Imogen was getting used to her mother’s newfound hot temper. “Sometimes I think that too,” she admitted, stroking the glass with her fingers. “But I don’t think he would have. It’s not in his nature.”

 

“Not in his nature?” Emilia recoiled. “He’s a vampire! It’s in their very nature to spill blood. Why do you think you have so much of it following you?”

 

Imogen’s fingers froze on the glass. “I...but that doesn’t have to do with the fact that I’m a Vampire...does it?”

 

Emilia shrugged. “It might. I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t. I mean, look at the facts, my little Imp. I didn’t die until after you were turned. Mirihesa died at the hands of another Vampire, one, I might add, that admitted to having killed her instead of you by mistake.”

 

Squeezing her eyes shut, Imogen clenched her fists. She didn’t know when exactly her mother died. All she knew that it was sometime between when she ran away as a child and when she returned to the Imperial City. But she always had a feeling it was after she had turned. There was no evidence to support this theory, but Imogen had a strong feeling in her heart that it was the case. 

 

When Imogen opened her eyes, Emilia leaned closer to her. “See? Your monstrosity is what is causing all this trouble. Why, Imy, I wouldn’t be surprised if this whole Oblivion crisis was your fault as well. After all, you heard Master Neloth; this wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s unnatural, just like you.”

 

Feeling tears gathering in her eyes, Imogen shoved the Tear’m back under her pillow and bolted out of the room. She needed air, and she wanted to be alone just in case she started sobbing. There was no way the Oblivion gate was here because of her. There was no way she was the reason so many lives were now in peril. 

 

And yet...her mother made a strong case. 

 

As Imogen stood outside, feeling the cool breeze against her skin, she heard a voice in the back of her mind say, “There are two ways of looking at the situation: you have either been cursed or blessed with Vampirism. How you view it will determine what becomes of you. Either you accept it and continue on your path towards being a regular member of society, or reject it and veer off course and wind up nothing more than an animal.”

 

“Am I becoming that monster Quaril warned me of?” Imogen asked. Her question hung in the air, and not even her ghosts would answer it. 

 

She didn’t even realize how long she stood outside until she could see the sun rising in the distance. Casting her gaze in the other direction, Imogen could see the fiery red gate awaiting her. Despite her fatigue, despite how terrible the situation was, Imogen took a deep breath from her chest, her eyes fixated on the gate, as she tried to bite back a smile. 

 

“Whom were you speaking to last night?”

 

The smile quickly vanished as Imogen whirled around. Arms crossed, Master Neloth tilted his head and squinted at the Oblivion gate in the distance, almost as if he had asked the gate the question rather than Imogen. 

 

Turning back around, Imogen ran her fingers through her hair, gathering up as many of the thick locks as she could so she could sweep it up into as good of a bun as she could. She furrowed her brows, her lips a straight line. “Nobody,” she replied, embarrassed that he had heard her during the night. How much did he hear? “Or, rather, myself I suppose.” 

 

Neloth snorted, shifting to one side to try to get a better view of the gate. “I’ll say. Thought you suddenly became two people with the way you were speaking.”

 

Just before she could knot her hair, Imogen froze. A strand of hair fell out from her hands as she tried to regain her composure. “Two people?”

 

There was a pause before Neloth tilted his head and eyes towards her. “You were speaking as if you were two people. You would say one thing and then answer yourself. Even referred to yourself in the third person a few times.”

 

Imogen hastily knotted what hair was left in her hands before throwing her rucksack on her back. She didn’t respond, but she didn’t have to. Neloth kept going for her:

 

“‘That’s absurd, Master Neloth. Me? Speaking to myself? I can’t even begin to explain how ridiculous of an accusation that is. And even if I were, which I’m not saying I was, why would it be any of your business?’” Throughout the entire monologue, Neloth went back to staring at the gate in the distance, but he made sure to use his best falsetto voice and changed his accent to sound more Imperial. Imogen thought it sounded more like a Breton, but she could figure out what he was aiming for. Despite how ridiculous he sounded, Imogen’s face burned. Was that really how she sounded to him?

 

“Listen,” Imogen huffed. “I really rather not get into an argument with you today. We’re walking into Oblivion, and I would rather have you at my side as an ally than as a tormentor.”

 

A breeze rolled by, bringing the darkened clouds that hovered over the gate slightly closer to the fortress. Neloth shifted. “When was the last time you drank blood?” he asked.

 

Imogen gave him a hard stare. “About a week ago. Why?”

 

Turning on his heels, Neloth headed for the door to his makeshift lab. “Good. Keep it that way. We may need that monstrosity lying within.”

 

~.~

 

Leaving the fort proved to be a much more difficult task than Imogen had imagined. As the three of them pushed opened the large wooden doors of the gate, Imogen froze, a hot stone of panic running down her back. With the three of them gone, what would keep the fort safe? None of them had thought about it, and for good reason. The fort had never been unattended before. While there was a chance nothing would happen while they were away, Imogen was afraid their shelter would be destroyed or overwrought with Daedra upon their return. It was obvious Master Neloth couldn’t stay; he was the one who wanted to study the Oblivion gate in the first place. Besides, Morena didn’t trust him to actually keep the place safe. Morena then offered to stay behind, but Imogen did not like the idea of not knowing whether the Redguard was safe or not. And that made having Imogen stay out of the question as well. She would worry too much about her companions’ safety. In the end, Master Neloth summoned a lesser Daedra to guard the fort. Morena argued that it didn’t make sense to have a Daedra protect the fort from other Daedra, but Neloth claimed the beast would do as he said.

 

Once the fort was settled, the three of them were finally able to set off for the gate. Each step seemed to make the sky redder and darker. The low rumbling of the gate grew louder and more ominous as well, tightening Imogen’s throat. No Daedra came across their path, though Imogen could hear strange cries in the distance. 

 

“What an odd bunch we are,” Imogen said suddenly, startling even herself. There was no smile on her face. She spoke as if it was a fact that needed to be known. 

 

Morena cast her a look. “What, that we’re an Imperial, a Redguard, and a Dunmer? Or that we’re a blacksmith, a wizard, and a maid?”

 

While not entirely sure, Imogen swore she heard disdain in Morena’s voice. Like she, Imogen knew Morena was worried about what was going to happen, but was it possible that Morena was upset with her? But what had she done? 

 

About ten minutes into their journey, the sky grew dark. Imogen looked up to see what was obscuring the sun but was stunned to see not a thing in the sky. No, the sky was empty but drenched in the color of blood. The grass around their feet was dry and brown, and the trees rotten from the inside, the leaves falling from the branches at an alarming pace. 

 

“We’re getting close,” Master Neloth stated, grabbing hold of the staff that was hanging on his back. As if taking a cue from him, the girls procured their weapons as well: Morena, a freshly sharpened battle ax, and Imogen, the gold daggers Quaril gifted her. Morena had offered her a sword, but Imogen declined. She always felt silly swinging a sword around, and she liked to use her magic to keep enemies at bay instead of fighting them. She only harmed when she absolutely had to. 

 

The air grew still. With the sky tinted red, Imogen expected to feel warm, but it just felt stuffy, as if she were locked the kitchen after the fires had ceased burning. The ground crunched beneath their feet, muffled by the loud, deep hum of the gate that stood before them. It appeared taller than Imogen had remembered, a giant lizard’s eye gaping at them. 

 

The party had crouched down behind a few dead bushes, observing the creatures that seemed to guard the gate. Brown and scaley, the ugly things appeared the size of children and behaved like them too. They snapped their jaws at one another in what almost appeared like play to Imogen. 

 

“Scamps,” Neloth muttered, shifting his weight. “The lowest of the low. Still, don’t let their size fool you.”

 

“They’re still Daedra,” Morena interrupted. “So they are still dangerous.” 

 

Imogen couldn’t help but feel like they were directing their caution to her as if she would foolishly charge at the creatures without a second thought. Frowning, she went to scold them, but she was interrupted by a rather shrill battle cry. 

 

She snapped her attention back to the Scamps. A youth in a tattered white tunic and breeches ran wildly at the beasts, brandishing a broadsword slightly too large for him. He swung it downwards, crashing it onto one of the Scamps’ heads. It gave out a rather disturbing screech as the boy tugged at the sword, trying to get it out of the Scamp’s skull. The other Scamps used this time to surround the youth, slashing him with their claws. 

 

Instinctively, Morena and Imogen jumped up from their place behind the bushes. Neloth stood as well, but unlike the other two who rushed over to assist the boy, he just watched from their hiding place. Morena bashed a Scamp with the blunt end of her ax, getting it away from the boy before swinging the ax at an angle on its shoulder. As it slackened, Morena kicked it off of her ax before turning her attention to another to do the same to it. Imogen, meanwhile, with an orange aura, flung the boy away from the fray, knocking a few of the Scamps over as well. The boy landed a few feet away with a dull thud, hard enough to hurt but soft enough to be better than being clawed to death. The Scamps closest to her lunged at her, but she hopped back to get out of their range, keeping one dagger out in front of her just in case. The Scamps bumped into on another and started nipping at each other as if offended. Taking a deep breath, Imogen felt her body stiffen as she extended her left hand and sprayed the two of them with ice shards. The Scamps shrieked and went to lunge at her yet again, but the boy had by then jumped back to his feet and swung his broadsword into the hip of the Scamp on the left. With her dagger, Imogen flexed forward and slashed the other one in the stomach. It growled, black blood oozing from the wound. It only seemed to grow more aggravated and lunged for her again. Leaving his broadsword inside the now dead Scamp, the boy tackled the other one to the ground before it could get to Imogen. Without hesitation, Imogen stabbed her knife into the back of its neck and held it there until it stopped writhing in pain. 

 

As Imogen pulled out her dagger, Morena did the same with her ax, surrounded by three dead Scamps herself. Panting, she, Imogen, and the boy looked around to make sure none were left. When they felt confident they were safe, Imogen whirled around to the boy, placing her hands on her hips.

 

“Seggory Gioidia! What, by the Nine, do you think you’re doing here?!” she yelled.


	17. Asunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Three: Into the Depths  
> In which all hell breaks loose on Nirn, and Imogen feels the need to fix it.

“The Empire will consider you a traitor. You do realize that, yes?”

Morena’s words seemed to bounce off the youth as he searched through the remains. When Imogen had first scolded Seggory for fight the Daedra alone, his usual, eager smile was long forgotten. His face was speckled with dirt and dried blood, his eyes bloodshot, and his hands shook when he was idle. 

“I couldn’t do it,” he said, pulling himself away from the long forgotten corpse of an unidentified victim. “At first, I was happy to hear we were returning to Cyrodiil. I was worried about my folks, wanted to make sure they was okay. But as we started marching off, I could hear it all. Screaming, and I could hardly tell apart those of monsters or of men. 

“I’m not the only one who stayed behind,” he added, addressing Imogen. “There was others. Older soldiers, especially those with no kin. Wanted to stay behind and help. But…” He trailed off, but it was obvious what he was going to say.

Imogen shook her head. Part of her wanted to be angry. He betrayed the Empire, her Empire. How could he do such a thing? Hadn’t he ranted to her countless times how he was going to fight for the Empire and be a brave soldier just like his father before him? Yet, wasn’t it brave of him to disobey his commanding officer so he could protect others? After all, Morena did the same. 

Another emotion kep tugging at her, one she couldn’t quite name. Here was this soldier, no, this boy, a young boy in way over his head, going against orders because he believed they were wrong. Here was this boy fighting all by himself, not in a tactical battle scheme but for survival.

She wanted to smack him. She wanted to hug him.

Neloth hurrumphed. “If we’re done catching up, may we proceed with our plans?”

“Plan’s changed,” Morena glared. “We weren’t expecting to find Seggory here.”

“Let’s get him back to the fort,” Imogen suggested. “He can stay with Neloth’s Daedric guardian.”

Seggory gave Imogen a hard look. “I’m not going back there. I can’t. It represents something I don’t agree with.”

“He can stay here for all I care,” Neloth said, sauntering up to the Oblivion Gate. “But we’re going inside as we had already decided.”

Imogen’s eyes followed Neloth. The Gate loomed over them, watching them, waiting for them. She felt her lips twitch into a smile before smothering them back down. It disgusted her how eager she was to journey inside.

Suddenly, Seggory grasped Imogen’s shoulders. “Miss! You can’t go in there! You’ve seen what monsters it spits out. The dangers can only be worse inside!”

Tensing, Imogen looked into Seggory’s eyes. There it was again, that yearning and admiration. Imogen thought it had died along with his nationalism. But no, Seggory still appeared to be enamoured by her, and worse still, Imogen couldn’t help but feel coddled. Morena and Neloth had both spoken to her as if she were some sort of lamb in need of a shepherd. Imogen had half a mind to inform Morena of how old the Vampire really was, but she knew such pettiness would get her nowhere good. 

Imogen shrugged Seggory off. “I’m going inside, Seggory. Master Neloth and I wish to study the gate and find a way to close it. But if you’re too afraid, you may stay out here and fight off what gets out.”

Her words were a little more chiding than she intended, but she was too irked to care. 

Neloth nodded. “Let’s waste no more time then.”

As Imogen approached the gate, Morena only spoke with her eyes, giving Imogen a discerning look before she and Seggory joined them. The gate looked as though it was nothing more than fire. If someone were to stand behind it, the others would have seen them through the flames. For a moment, it reminded Imogen of the Tear’m: instead of water, the gate had fiery glass, and instead of acting as a mirror, the gate acted as a window. If they hadn’t see the Daedra popping out of it, they wouldn’t have thought it to be a gate at all.

“Do we just...walk through?” Imogen inquired, looking at Neloth.

He rubbed his hands together. “It appears so.”

Despite not coordinating it, the four of them lifted a foot and took on step inside the gate. When they realized they couldn’t see their foot anymore, they took the next step until their line of sight drastically changed. No longer could they see mushroom forests in the background. They couldn’t hear Silt Striders in the distance. In front of them lay brown, dead earth, cracked and crumbling into pits of lava, a large tower in the middle of one of the pits with arms reaching out to a couple other towers in the area. 

The sudden change made Imogen’s stomach churn. She lurched over, eyes squeezed shut. The others acted similarly, even Master Neloth, though to a much lesser extent. Once Imogen felt her stomach settling, she ventured to look out at the new world before her. Despite its hellish appearance, she couldn’t help but find the place beautiful in a way. She could certainly say she had never seen a place like it before. She was reminded of her first steps into Morrowind, which now seemed so long ago to her. 

A hand on his sword, Seggory took the first few steps forward, surveying the scene. They were half expecting an ambush considering the number of monsters that were evacuating the gate. At the moment, things were surprisingly quiet. Imogen was grateful for that, but she could sense both Seggory’s and Morena’s unease. She glanced over at Neloth. His expression hadn’t changed much since they entered the gate. His eyes swept over the landscape. Imogen wondered what he was thinking. What did he think of this new land?

Morena broke the silence first. “Well, we’re here. I don’t quite know where ‘here’ is, but that’s where we are. What now?”

“The tower,” Imogen gestured with her head. “That’s probably a good place to start. It’s high enough to give us a good view of the land. We can think of our next step once we get a better idea of where we are and what we’re dealing with.”

Neloth nodded. “It’s probably our best option. Everywhere else seems to be swallowed by molten rock. Though we could be heading straight to our doom. That tower could be the source of all of the Daedra in the area.”

“True,” Imogen agreed. “Especially since we haven’t seen any yet. But I suppose it’s better than waiting here and seeing what happens to us.” 

They started walking in a makeshift formation. Seggory insisted on being in front, sword out and eyes alert for incoming Daedra. Behind him, Morena, Imogen, and Neloth walked side by side, Imogen in the middle and the others flanked on either side of her. While Neloth diluted himself with the fantasy of being in charge, it seemed that Morena and Seggory viewed Imogen as the ring leader. Any time they into a fork in the road, they turned to Imogen for direction. Imogen wasn’t sure why. After all, Neloth was the one who had more knowledge and experience in this domain. 

When they finally approached the center tower, Imogen was surprised and concerned by the fact that they hadn’t really faced any opposition. They had to fight the occasional Scamp here and there, but nothing else appeared to have taken notice of them. Imogen counted their blessings for now, knowing deep in her gut that something bad was waiting for them inside. 

They circled the base of the tower, seeking a way inside. Yet not one of them could find a door. “Odd,” Imogen said, “That a tower would have no entrance.”

“Not quite,” Seggory replied. While the others were knocking on the walls, trying to see how to get in, he stayed out a little ways to provide cover. He wasn’t looking at Imogen when he spoke. “My dad told me once he had been in a tower with no doors. Had to enter from underground. Kept the tower safer that way.”

Imogen hummed in thought, then looked up at the slender bridges that branched out from the tower. “Perhaps, then, we have to enter from one of the further towers and cross the bridge to this one.”

“That would be a good defensive tactic,” Neloth agreed. “And if that turns out to be the case, that would mean this center tower is very important. Why else would the Daedra go to such lengths to make it inaccessible?” 

Morena purse her lips. “What if it’s a trick? Maybe this tower isn’t important at all? Just a red herring.”

Imogen had to admit that Morena had a point, but before the Imperial could say anything, Seggory was tugging her out of the way of a stray fire blast. Imogen was expecting to see another Scamp, but instead, another sort of creature was running towards them. It walked on two legs, but its back was hunched over, skinny arms with sharp talons on the ends slashing at the air in front of it. It’s razor-sharp beak was the only normal part of its head, as Imogen found it’s flat, crown-like head to be absurd enough to almost make her laugh had the creature not been lunging towards her. It swiped at her while Seggory thrusted his sword at it. Imogen took a step back, only suffering a slight brush of its hand. She could feel its coarse, leathery skin and wasn’t surprised to see that Seggory’s sword didn’t do much damage. A bolt of lightning zipped by her head and into the creature’s stomach. As blood gushed out and as Seggory thrusted his sword into the wound, Imogen looked behind her to see a rather peeved Neloth wiping his hands on his robe. 

“These constant interruptions are getting old,” he admitted. “But it’s interesting to see that it’s not only Scamps inhabiting this domain.”

With the immediate threat out of the way, Imogen went back to pondering their next move. She still found it odd that everyone looked to her to decide, but as she looked about her, she saw everyone else was also deep in thought. What were they thinking? What madness was running through Master Neloth’s head? Was Morena having second thoughts on coming here? How much damage did watching his comrades die do to poor Seggory? 

Everyone had their own opinion on the situation, Imogen realized, but they looked to her to make a decision because she was the one who bound them together. Morena would have never agreed to help Neloth had Imogen not suggest it. Seggory, though a soldier who is honor-bound to protect others, seemed mostly concerned with Imogen’s safety than anyone else’s, including his own. And Neloth...well, he only tolerated the others’ assistance because Imogen refused to leave anyone behind. Imogen was forced to be the leader, despite having no experience with the situation herself. 

She glanced over at the tower in the distance to her left and then to the one to her right. Which one should they check first? Did it even matter? Perhaps both of them lead to the main tower. After all, they both had branches leading to the middle tower, but did that mean they could enter from either side? And if they checked one tower and found out they could enter to the middle from there, well, that would leave one tower unexplored, and the scholar in Imogen didn’t want to leave anything unaccounted for. 

Morena’s eyes met her own as if she had the same thought. “As much as I hate to even suggest it,” Morena said. “We could always split up. There are four of us.”

Imogen turned away from her. She had been thinking along the same lines, but she wasn’t sure if it was the greatest of ideas. If someone got hurt, how would she know about it? And even if they were to split, who would go with whom, because Imogen refused to let anyone go off on their own. 

She and Morena could work together. They had good chemistry from living together for five years. But Imogen could not see Neloth and Seggory working well with one another. In fact, Imogen couldn’t see Neloth working well with Morena either. That left her going with Neloth and Seggory going with Morena, but that left those two without a mage. 

Snapping back to reality, Imogen looked towards Neloth. He raised a brow and looked at her expectantly, like a teacher waiting for his student to answer. Morena watched her like a student waiting for her teacher to evaluate her answer. And Seggory looked like a soldier waiting for commands. 

“Okay,” Imogen started, taking a breath and squaring her shoulders. “Master Neloth and I will take the western tower while Seggory and Morena search the eastern one. If a path to the middle tower is available, take it, but don’t enter the middle tower right away. Stay out on the walkway and wait for the other party to do the same from their respective tower. If after ten minutes the other party doesn’t emerge, double back and check on that tower. If it appears too dangerous and the other teams is incapacitated, do not stick around. Fall back entirely and return to Nirn. Once both parties reach the outer walkways, we’ll all enter the middle tower together and meet up back inside. If there is no entrance to the middle tower from your side, then meet up with the other party in the other tower.”

Imogen almost started to pant from how quickly she gave out orders, but she held it in to appear more confident in her plan. She waited for someone to argue against her, to point out a flaw, to suggest something better. But no words came from anyone. Morena nodded but with a countenance that screamed she wasn’t thrilled with the idea. Seggory gave a single nod towards her, saying that he would do whatever was asked of her. Neloth stroked his chin but surprisingly kept his mouth shut. 

When it was clear that her plan was final, Imogen gestured towards Neloth. “Give Morena and Seggory the health potions you had been preparing. Between the two of us, we should be able to heal whatever wounds we incur.”

Without argument, Neloth unshouldered the potions bag he had been carrying, taking out only the magicka potions for him and Imogen to keep. As Morena draped the bag on her back, she sighed. “I guess we have no choice. See you in the middle...hopefully.”

As the two parties began to split, Imogen smiled. “Not ‘hopefully.’ We’ll be fine.” She quickly turned away, hoping Morena didn’t see her tremor.

~.~

The soil crunched beneath their feet. When they had first seen it, the western tower had seemed much closer than it really was. The path diverted and twisted so often, Imogen was afraid they were going to get lost. Nothing but lava pools and strange fauna greeted them. None of the Daedric beasts came out to play.

“Was this the best idea?” Imogen finally asked after traveling in silence for so long. She kept waiting for someone to argue against her, to tell her there was a better idea. But no one had said anything.

Master Neloth hummed. “I’m sure there were other options, but this will do for now.”

“Besides,” he added stopping for a moment to inspect a rather interesting plant. “It has made things all the more easier. We no longer have to worry about those two and their morals.”

Imogen frowned, keeping watch as Neloth poked at the plant. “Maybe you don’t have to worry about them, but I do. And what is so wrong with having morals?”

Neloth tugged a shoot off the plant and pocketed it. “Nothing, if you don’t wish to see what could be.”

As they kept walking, Imogen rolled her eyes. “What, like what a destroyed Morrowind could look like? Don’t think I don’t realize you aren’t actually interested in figuring out a way to stop this calamity. You just want to study it. In fact, if it were up to you, you would let it run its course until everyone was either dead or...or I don’t know, enslaved?”

He cocked a brow at her. “Oh? And you’re not interested in seeing what would happen? An Oblivion Gate has opened up on Nirn, an unprecedented event I might add, and you expect me to believe that the only reason you are here is so you can save the day?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but Imogen couldn’t get any words out. Of course that’s why I’m here, she wanted to say. But she couldn’t. Those words wouldn’t come out. 

Neloth smirked. “I thought so.”

Turning away from him, Imogen scowled. “Okay, so I’m interested in learning about this phenomenon too. But if given the choice to stop it, I will, mark me. I’m not like you. I care about others. I’m not-”

“-a monster?” Neloth interrupted, a snideness in his voice. “No, of course not. The girl with the fangs is anything but a monster. She might feed off of helpless Imperial soldiers -and don’t think I don’t know you have been- but she certainly isn’t a monster because she has good morals and cares about other people.”

She darted out in front of him, hands on her hips, stopping their procession. “You know, you can be a real jerk sometimes.”

Neloth snorted. “Sometimes?”

“What do you want from me?” She continued, ignoring his comment. “What, because I have fangs and drink blood and can’t stand the sun, you want me to act like a monster? You want me to forsake people’s lives so I can act like a monster? Yes, that would benefit you, wouldn’t it? Then you would have a real, breathing monster to study, wouldn’t you? Because who in the world would want to study a boring thing like me? Who would even care? Because, apparently, being a good person is boring. Making the right decisions is boring. And you are so above that, aren’t you? You think that just because you are so...so emotionally detached from everything you endeavor, that makes you superior to me. To you, life is just one big experiment, and you’re the one with the results. You don’t care what happens. The world could end today, but as long as you got to witness it, you’ll die a happy Mer. But I’m the monster. I’m the monster here because I’m an abomination in the eyes of mortal men. And you? I think you hate me. No, you envy me, because I’ll get to live forever, the only thing you have ever cared about, and I don’t even have to try, while you will wither away and die, lonely and forgotten because you never once stopped to actually care about anyone!”

Face red, Imogen breathed heavily from her nose, eyes fixated on Neloth. He said nothing for a moment, returning her gaze with a look of sheer boredom.

“Are you done?” He asked. “If so, we should get going. The tower is just a little further.”

Without waiting for a reply, Neloth walked around her, continuing towards their destination. Imogen took a deep breath and turned around to follow him.

“I’m not done,” Imogen said, much calmer than before. “I’m not done at all. You believe you can shut me out, but you can’t. I want you to answer me: what makes me such a monster in your eyes?”

Master Neloth’s pace was much faster than hers. He didn’t look back to answer. “I never claimed to see you as a monster, now did I?”

“No,” Imogen leveled. “But you did imply it.”

“Ah, good. You’re conjecturing. One should always postulate in this field. But no, I did not imply it. You assumed I did.”

Imogen scurried to match his pace, trying to get a look at his expression. Part of her wanted to explode again. It was almost insulting to insist he didn’t mean anything by his comments of her fangs or taste of blood. But her last outburst proved useless at getting any sort of reaction from Neloth. No, if she wanted to understand what he meant, she was going to have to play his little game.

She sigh as she marched next to him. “Then what did you mean? You mocked my saying that I’m not a monster. You said that certainly a person like me with fangs had to be a monster. So if that wasn’t you insinuating that I am a monster...what could you possibly mean?”

Finally, he angled his head to look at her. “You really don’t know? I thought you were just acting stupid.”

Imogen chose not to be angry at his comment, thought it was a very difficult choice. “Please just get to the point.”

“They were your own words,” Neloth said as they approached the tower. “You said them last night.”

With the tower now in front of them, Imogen felt it inappropriate to continue their current conversation, as much as it pained her to let it go. Dark, slick stone wrapped the building, but a section of the stone appeared cut, more jagged than the other sections, with red etchings bordering the incisions. 

“Daedric runes,” Imogen murmured. 

Neloth hummed. “Makes sense, considering where we are.”

Squinting, Imogen traced the letters with her fingers. “‘Fortress.’ This one says Fortress.” 

“‘The Brooding Fortress,’” Neloth finished. “Where did you learn Daedric runes?” 

It wasn’t a surprise for Neloth to know. Her stay in Morrowind taught Imogen that the Dunmer liked to write using the runes. She could have just said she picked it up from living in Morrowind, but she couldn’t see a point in lying. 

“My mother. She taught me before I had even learned how to write in Cyrodiilic.” She stepped back from the wall. “The Brooding Fortress...what a silly name for a tower.”

Neloth shrugged. “No one said the Daedra were creative.”

Pressing on the stone, the two of them entered the building. For a moment, Imogen was blind, her eyes adjusting to the lighting, or rather lack thereof. They found themselves in a circular room, worn tan stone lining the walls. Spikes adorned the center of the room, all of various sizes, each drenched in blood and fitted with various organs, bones, and other remains of what Imogen had to assume were once people. For once, Imogen was happy she now had a fondness for the scent of blood; if she were still human, she might have fainted. 

Neloth leaned over the spikes, investigating the bloody remains that Imogen had already assessed with just her nose. “Well,” he said, testing the sharpness of a spike with his index finger. “We can certainly narrow down Whose plane of Oblivion we are in. I can’t see this being the Libraries of Apocrypha for instance.”

Glancing up, Imogen spotted a large hole in the ceiling, yet there were no stairs of any sort leading to it. “Yes,” she murmured. “And given the state of outside, I’d say it’s not one of the many pleasure pockets of Sanguine.”

Neloth snorted. “Can’t rule that out entirely. Some might find this pleasurable.”

She ignored him and tugged on his sleeve, grabbing his attention. “How do you figure one gets up there? You and I could levitate, but is that something Daedra can do?”

The both stared at the hole for a few moments in silence. Neloth stroked his chin. “That is not a question I have ever considered.”

Again, they stood there in silence, but Imogen’s brain was racing, and she could only assume Neloth’s was doing the same. There were many books on the subject of Daedra: what they were, how they were not born nor made, their powers, their tricks. But Imogen could not for the life of her recall ever reading a book about a Daedra’s habits. Did Daedra sleep? Did they eat? Did they pass bodily fluids throughout the day? Did they like company? Would they rather be alone? Were they, like the living beings of Nirn, connected to the Magicka stream, or did they get their powers from something else entirely? 

Her mother had given Imogen the best education on Daedra worship a mother could give a child, which Imogen realized was an odd thing for an Imperial to do. If she had been born a Dunmer like Neloth, then sure, an education on Daedra would have been normal. But why had her mother turned toward the Daedra rather than the Aedra? And why had her father allowed such teaching, when he himself was so adamantly against it?

Suddenly, Imogen realized there was a lot she didn’t know.

“There’s a lever on the wall,” Neloth interrupted Imogen’s thoughts. 

Imogen’s eyes bounced to the aforementioned lever, then to Neloth who mirrored her. Like a child might watch a parent when doing something she oughtn’t, Imogen kept an eye on Neloth as she slid over to the lever, pulled it down, and quickly jumped back where she was. Instantly, the floor beneath them jerked, and soon the spikes and the floor surrounding them started to rise, a loud clicking sound filling the room.

Neloth continued to look at her. “You just pulled a lever without knowing what it was going to do?”

Imogen shrugged, giving him a level look. “Thought you would want to see what it could do.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as they reached the second floor. This room was almost as bare as the one below it, but a spiral ramp ran up the perimeter of the tower. Imogen’s eyes followed it to the top, but she could not see what it lead to. It seemed that the only way to know would be to follow the path on foot. There was no point in debating it; the two of them started on the path.

Up and up and up they went. The moving was slow, as the ramp’s incline was steep and the two of them wanted to keep a steady pace. No point in rushing ahead when they had no idea where they were going. Their footfalls echoed off the stone. The silence was unnerving.

“You heard everything last night, didn’t you?” Imogen spoke as if they had been talking the entire time.

Neloth didn’t bother to look at her, which was fine since Imogen hadn’t bothered to look at him. “Every word. I’m a rather light sleeper. Hardly sleep at all, actually.”

Imogen formulated her next question carefully. “Did you...did you see anything?”

“The room was dark, so no. I saw nothing.”

For Imogen, the ghosts that visited her each night were as bright as the sun and as clear as day. If Master Neloth had not seen them, did that mean they didn’t exist?

“What do you know of ghosts, Master Neloth?”

They stopped, assessing the room after hearing what sounded like a thud. Nothing had changed below them, and nothing had changed above. After a few moments of straining ears and eyes, they continued on their way. 

Master Neloth cleared his throat. “It’s not a subject I have dealt with in detail, but I know enough about them to keep myself satisfied.”

“Is it possible,” Imogen said, finally looking up at him. “For a ghost to only make itself known to one person?”

Neloth cocked his head to one side. “I suppose there isn’t much stopping a spirit from doing such a thing, but I cannot see what use it would be for that spirit. Usually, when a ghost wanders Nirn, it is for a purpose. That spirit does not belong on Nirn anymore, but it cannot seem to pull itself away until something it cares about is done. Could be revenge. Could be finding peace. Presenting itself to only one person would make obtaining its goal much harder.”

“But what if it presented itself to the person who had wronged it?” Imogen offered. 

“Well, it would depend on the situation,” Neloth answered. “For instance, if it confronted its killer, I suppose that could help the ghost find peace. Or even its loved one it hadn’t gotten to say its farewells.”

He glanced down at Imogen. “But we’re speaking of your mother, aren’t we.”

Imogen blanched. “What makes you think-”

“Not think,” he interrupted. “Know. They way you spoke to yourself last night. The tone you used, very much like a mother chiding her child. And you mentioned Mirihesa in there as well. You believe you are being haunted by them, don’t you?”

She frowned, unsure of how to feel about Neloth’s tone. She couldn’t place how he was speaking to her. “Not believe. Know,” she echoed half-mockingly. The images she saw each night were too real for her to only think she saw them. 

Waving a dismissive hand, Neloth pressed on. “Let’s say you are being haunted by the ghost of Mirihesa, let’s start there. Why would she bother reaching out to you?”

“Because-”

“-You’re not the one who struck her down,” Neloth offered no time for Imogen to respond. He was in full lecture mode. “You’re not the one who killed her. She would have no reason to haunt you in your sleep, or pseudo sleep if you will. I knew Miri; if she were to haunt anyone, it would be me. She’d haunt me until the day I died, goading me to make her my apprentice even in death.

“As for your mother...well, I don’t know much about that situation. From what I can gather, she died during an absence of yours? I believe you had mentioned that you had run away from home at some point. I could be confusing that with something else. If that is the case, her haunting you could be a sign that she wants to say her farewells, but that does not seem to be the case with the way you were addressing yourself. You were admonishing yourself, calling yourself a monster, blaming you for what happened to her and Mirihesa. Not very motherly, and ever the harshest of mothers tend to become more motherly in death, believe me. 

“Why would these two blame you for their deaths? What peace would that bring them?”

“Because I should be the one that’s dead, not them!” Imogen shouted, her voice bringing them both to a halt. They were just a few feet from the top floor. They could see a small fountain, but they ignored those for now. 

Neloth didn’t look surprised or annoyed that she had interrupted him. In fact, it could have been the response he was looking for. Imogen refrained from eye contact, but she didn’t look away from him either. It was out. She said it. Might as well continue. 

“Mirihesa died because of me,” she admitted. “The one who killed her...she was a Vampire I had met when I first arrived in Morrowind. She knew what I was, and for some reason, she wanted to kill me. I don’t know why. I still don’t understand it. She attacked Mirihesa when I had been staying in her house. She thought Miri was me, and it wasn’t until she attacked that she realized her mistake. But she killed her anyway. I was the one who should have died that day.”

Neloth nodded, not in agreement but in thought. “And your mother?”

“If I had never left home, my mother would still be alive today,” Imogen said. She spoke with such conviction, as if she had the power to make that sentence the truth. 

Hands on his hips, Neloth frowned in thought. “And why is that?” 

Imogen opened her mouth to respond, but then shut it. She pursed her lips, trying to find the words she felt she had known so well, the words she could hear ringing in her ears at night. But she suddenly forgot them. 

With a defeated sigh, Imogen shook her head. “I don’t know. I just know it’s the truth.”

Turning his head, Neloth gave a cursory glance at the room before them. “Your theory has flaws,” he said. “Fill in those holes, and perhaps I’ll believe you are being singled out by not one but two spirits who blame you for their untimely deaths. Until then, I believe you are wrong.”

As he started into the room, Imogen couldn’t help but smile, despite the emotions she was feeling. “Thank you.”

For once, Neloth’s face gave way to confusion. “For what?”

“For listening to me.”

The two of them stood there for a moment before continuing into the center of the room. There, a small fountain sprayed blood into a shallow basin. Though it smelled and looked like blood to Imogen, the scent did not seem familiar to her. Curiosity got the better of her. She slowly leaned over the fountain and lapped up a mouthful of blood. It had the strong, metallic taste most blood had but was also bitter, not a taste she was used to. Neloth watched for her reaction.

“It’s not human, I can say that for sure,” she assessed. “And not Mer either. Could it be Daedric?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. Or it could be the very essence of the Plane itself.”

Imogen didn’t like the thought of drinking Daedra blood, or even drinking the blood of Oblivion. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and turned towards the door to their far right. With nowhere else to go, they opened the door. Again, Imogen felt blind as light streamed into the room. Once she adjusted, she sighed in relief. Outside. The door led to one of the bridges they had seen earlier. A narrow walkway led to the imposing center tower. The two towers were diagonal from one another, as was the tower Morena and Seggory had entered. From the walkway, Imogen could just make out the walkway from the other tower. She hadn’t realized how far they were from each other, and she hoped she’d be able to spot the other two when they came out. 

That is, if they came out of the their tower.

“We didn’t hit any resistance,” Imogen observed, her voice trailing off. Neloth nodded, his eyes scanning the horizon before them.

“Yes,” he replied, shifting on his feet. “I suppose you’re concerned.”

Imogen nodded. “It shouldn’t be this easy.”

They fell into another lapse of silence, waiting to see Morena and Seggory appear on their respective walkway. It shouldn’t be this easy. Those words kept ringing in Imogen’s ears. It was easy for Neloth and her to get this far, but what if the others ran into danger? Did Imogen send her friends to their deaths? Imogen prayed not, mostly because she cared for them, but partially because she couldn’t bear the thought of being haunted by any more spirits. 

Imogen felt her eyes getting heavy. No, she couldn’t handle any more hauntings. Just her mother and Mirihesa kept her up at night. And apparently even Vampires needed their rest. Carefully, Imogen sat down, folding her legs under her and leaning her back against the stone door. Neloth gazed over at her as she did so, but once he saw what she was doing, he turned his attention back to the ground far below them. He figured they might as make the best use of their time and try to observe the land. Normally, Imogen would have joined him, but she found herself getting tired. She closed her eyes, not planning to sleep but just hoping to give her eyes a break.


	18. Cleave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Three: Into the Depths  
> In which all hell breaks loose on Nirn, and Imogen feels the need to fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update! I've been having wicked writer's block. Hopefully I'll get back in the swing of things soon.

Little lights danced in the darkness behind Imogen’s eyelids. Little lights like little sprites. A memory came to mind. A memory of lanterns and music and laughter. She saw her mother, her normal mother, with her hair down twirling about, her bare feet hitting the ground. There were others, Imogen was sure, but she could not recall their faces. But they were all happy. Joyous and giddy, they all danced together. Such pretty lanterns. Such festive music. 

The memory dispersed as Imogen felt something nudge her foot. She gave a low hum, unwilling to open her eyes. The nudge hit her again, harder this time. Begrudgingly, she fluttered her eyes open. Neloth was standing sideways, hands on his hips. Or rather it looked like he was. Imogen realized that it was she who was on her side. In her sleep, she must have slumped over. Part of her head rested on the edge of the walkway. 

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Neloth said. “The other two have emerged from their tower. Let’s get a move on.”

Just as he said, Imogen could see two figures on the other walkway waving their hands above their heads. Carefully, Imogen got to her feet and waved back. Both parties began their trek to the middle tower. 

“I can’t believe my plan worked,” Imogen murmured. 

Because the walkway was so narrow, she and Neloth walked single file, Neloth taking the lead. Imogen was grateful; she was constantly tempted to look down, but she instead focused her attention on his robe. When she had first meant Neloth, he wore such an elegant robe, one with bright golden thread and intricate markings. While she wouldn’t describe his current robe as shabby, she had to admit it wasn’t nearly as fantastic. It was like his old one, but toned down, like a tarnished golden Septim. Even his gold earrings, which Imogen swore were the same ones he wore five years ago, seemed to have aged. 

Finally, they reached the other side. Still concerned about their lack of opposition, the two of them opened the door slowly, trying to garner a peek at whatever could be inside. A booming hum filled the room, not unlike the boom she had heard outside the Gate. The room was as round and as wide as the tower itself, just a single room with alcoves off to either side. Dead center in the room stood a pillar, but not one of stone or wood or any other material Imogen would have found normal. The strange pillar reminded Imogen of the birdbath her mother had owned, but rather than having a soft white marble exterior, this one was made of the same sleek, dark stone the tower was made from. And rather than having a shallow basin filled with water, this was deep, an abyss-like cup filled with a odd, glowing light that shot upwards passed the ceiling. Or rather, it appeared to pass the ceiling; upon further inspection, Imogen could see a tiny hole that the light went through. 

From the other side of the room, Morena and Seggory cautiously assessed the room. Imogen couldn’t help herself. She flung herself at the two of them, a hand on both their shoulders. “I’m so glad you two are safe,” she smiled. 

Seggory regarded her for a moment before stepping away and surveying the room. Imogen’s smile faltered as she turned to Morena.

“Did something happen?” Imogen asked.

Morena shrugged. “No, and that’s what has him worried. It has me worried too. Maybe Neloth was right; this place could be a trap.”

Pursing her lips, Imogen turned towards Neloth. Standing akimbo, he was leaning over the strange fountain, not paying attention to anyone. Seggory continued to circle the room. Imogen realized she was back to managing the entire group.

She looked towards one of the alcoves. “We should keep going. There isn’t any point in staying here. The lack of opposition is unnerving, yes, but we should consider ourselves lucky. After all, there were a lot of daedra outside the gate. Perhaps they…”

Imogen trailed off as she felt her companions’ eyes on her. She didn’t want to finish that sentence. Didn’t want to fathom the thought. 

Closing his eyes, Seggory nodded. “There are only two reasons a fortress like this would be so empty. Either the entire militia was defeated, or they are busy fighting a battle.”

“You mean to tell me,” Morena said, “That we have been having an easy time because the daedra are more preoccupied with Nirn?”

Imogen pursed her lips. “We can’t worry about that now. We need to focus on seeing if there is a way to destroy this gate.”

“We should fall back,” Seggory countered. “If the daedra really are in Nirn, then that’s where we should be. We should be protecting the people there.”

Morena nodded. “I agree. It wouldn’t matter if we closed this gate. The daedra are still out there. And if all the reports are true, there are thousands of gates opened all across Tamriel. What use would one less gate do?”

“What use would one less daedra do?” Imogen snapped, causing Seggory and Morena to flinch. Neloth, from his spot near the fountain, cocked a brow but nothing more. Imogen took a shaky breath through her nose as she regarded her party. 

“What would it matter to go back and fight? We could mow down wave after wave of daedra and we wouldn’t make a dent in their numbers. You can’t kill the daedra; you can only send them back to Oblivion. But if these gates are open, what’s stopping them from coming back? The only way to stop the daedra would be to lock them back in Oblivion.”

No one spoke a word for a few moments. No one looked at one another. 

Without waiting for any responses, Imogen stormed over to one of the alcoves. She realized it must have appeared childish, but she no longer seemed to care how she appeared to her companions. It was becoming increasingly obvious to her that their ragtag team was not going to work as perfectly as she would have liked. They were all too different with different experiences and different goals. She thought she could band them together, but she could not.

Still, she felt the need to try. She turned to face them again, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. “I am going to continue my way up the tower,” she said levelly. “If anyone wishes to accompany me, I would appreciate it. But if you would rather return to Nirn and fight the Daedra there, I will neither stop you nor berate you. The decision is yours.”

Both Seggory and Morena peered at her. Morena’s face carried a mixture of anger, betrayal, and even sadness. Possibly she had come to know Imogen as a friend and couldn’t believe the Imperial would speak to her in such a manner. Perhaps she felt that Imogen’s intentions were purely personal, that the Imperial only cared to research the place much like Master Neloth did. But who knows? Imogen could not read the expression.

Seggory’s face was a bit easier to read. He looked at Imogen with the admiration he always had for her, but a soldier’s seriousness shimmered in his eyes. He wanted to protect her, but he wanted to protect his people as well. 

With a shake of her head, Morena huffed. “I’ve watched the Empire walk out on its people already. I’m not about to do the same. I’m returning to help however I can.”

Imogen felt personally attacked by the statement, but she tried to not let it show. 

Seggory sheathed his sword. “Not me either. I left the army to protect the people here. But both of you are right. The people in Morrowind need protection. The only way to stop this madness could lie here. I will escort Miss Morena back to Nirn, and then assess the situation from there.”

A smile slid across Imogen’s face. “You’ve really become the soldier you wanted to be,” she said before biting the smile back. “I wish you two luck.”

There was a pause before Morena replied. “You too.”

Once Morena and Seggory began their trek back down the tower, Neloth pushed himself away from the fountain. “Well, that took forever.”

Imogen flinched. The wizard had been so quiet she had forgotten about him. She realized it was just the two of them again, and she finally analyzed what had happened. 

“Why did I do that?” she murmured as Neloth joined her at the alcove. “I just...I pushed them away.”

Neloth tugged her arm rather than answered, leading her up the ramp to the next floor. She allowed the Mer to half-drag her as she felt herself drifting. The room, Neloth’s grasp, all of it seemed far away. Only after she tripped and almost took Neloth down with her that she snapped back to the present.

Yanking her back to her feet, Neloth slapped her across the face. It wasn’t a particularly hard slap, just enough force for it to sting, but it did its job of getting Imogen to focus. 

“Stay awake,” he barked. “You’re useless to me asleep.”

Imogen frowned. “I wasn’t asleep. I just-”

“Yes, yes,” Neloth waved her off. “You’re worried about your friends. You’re weak from not feeding in a while. You haven’t been sleeping. Stop letting your weaknesses get in the way. We have mysteries to uncover, and it won’t do that have you tripping over yourself.”

She sighed. “I just…”

As she trailed off, she perked her head up towards the top of the tower. Neloth had enough sense to keep quiet, tilting his head to try to hear what his vampire companion was focusing on. 

“Can you hear it?” She asked. “It’s a strange sort of gurgling sound.”

He shook his head. “All I hear is that annoying rumbling.”

Before he could finish his answer, a figure peeked out from several stories above them. Once it saw them, it screamed, its voice low and gutteral. It took a step away from the edge before quickly launching itself towards Imogen and Neloth. The two instantly separated, the figure landing between them with a thud, cracking the floor beneath it. It was tall, at least 8 feet, with black skin covered in deep crimson markings. Laden with rusty, once-white armor, the creature stood so Imogen was on its left and Neloth its right. In one hand, it held a mace, blood still dripping from its spikes. The other hand held a head, it too still bleeding, beaten beyond recognition. 

In one swift motion, the creature lobbed the head towards Imogen, who automatically recoiled backwards, while swinging its mace at Neloth. The head flew passed her, blood spattering on her face as it went by. Despite knowing she needed to recover quickly, Imogen tried to get a good look at the head. She felt the need to know who had to meet such a brutal death. As it landed and rolled down the walkway, Imogen forced herself away from it, turning back to the creature persuing Neloth. 

Imogen realized the creature saw Neloth as the bigger threat, and she supposed it was right. In the few seconds Imogen took to recover from the unusual projectile, Neloth and the creature were already another story above her. With nowhere else to go, Neloth had to back-peddle up the walkway, trying to keep his distance from the Daedroth. It was the disadvantage all mages faced; range was better for flinging spells. Still, despite the close quarters, Neloth was managing himself quite well. He was using his staff to keep the Daedroth at bay, a steady stream of fire enveloping the creature. But the Daedroth only seemed mildly annoyed by the flames. Pulling out her dagger, Imogen sprinted up the spiral, thinking of how to assist. Before she could even formulate a plan, a growl from above caught her ear. 

“Behind you!” she called up, running faster now. 

Towards the top of tower, another one of the Daedra was joining the fray. Longsword drawn, the creature pulled its arms back and swung towards the elf. Without hesitation, Neloth turned so his back faced the wall and aimed his hand at his new opponent. A bolt of lightning sparked from his hands and struck the other Daedroth’s face. It gave a gurglily roar, stopping in its tracks, and glared at Neloth. But Neloth couldn’t pay it much mind. He still had the other Daedroth to worry about.

The first Daedroth rose its mace up to strike, but suddenly stumbled back. In her panic, Imogen flung herself onto the Daedroth’s back, arms wrapped tightly around its neck. Briefly, she wondered if it was possible to choke a Daedroth, but the thought was short lived. The brute began to thrash about, trying to throw her off. With one threat distracted, Neloth turned to his opponent with the longsword. Imogen knew she had to do something fast before the Daedroth figured out a way to get at her. Gripping her dagger, she angled the blade at the Daedroth’s throat, but the beast saw right away what she was doing. It dropped its mace and grabbed onto her wrist, flinging her over its head and onto the ground before it. Imogen gasped, trying to suck in air as her lungs now felt desperately empty. She couldn’t focus on the pain. 

The Daedroth leaned over to pick up its mace, sneering at her while it did so. Holding the mace downwards, it aimed for Imogen’s stomach. Imogen’s eyes focused on the weapon. Just when it was barely a foot away from hitting her, the mace suddenly stopped. The Daedroth flinched and tried to push the mace down. Nothing. It gripped the mace with both hands and pushed. This time, it budged forward another inch or two, but it still remained in the air. 

With the mace no longer coming towards her, Imogen should have moved out of the way. But she couldn’t. Eyes still fixated on the mace, Imogen was focusing on one thing: keeping the mace away from her. And that’s exactly what she was doing. Magicka poured out of her. Her breath became hollow. As she pushed the mace away, the beast pushed it toward her. They were at an impasse.

A bolt of lightning flashed over her and onto the Daedroth’s hand. As it cried it pain, the mace flew into the air, and Imogen finally released her hold onto it. 

“Get up!” she heard Master Neloth snap. 

Regardless of her exhaustion, the words sparked Imogen to pick herself up. Hand bloodied, the Daedroth lunged toward her again. With a flick of her wrists and a deep breath, she she sent out a wave of magicka that pushed the beast over the edge of the walkway. She could hear it cursing her in its gutteral voice the entire way down. 

Imogen spun around to assist Master Neloth, but he had just then sent a bolt straight into the Daedroth’s core. She watched as the creature sunk to its knees before finally dying. With some disdain, Neloth nudged it over the edge of the walkway to join with the other. 

Neloth crossed his arms. “What were you thinking, using a telekinetic spell rather than something more offensive?”

All Imogen wanted to do was lay down and fall asleep, but she pushed her way passed Neloth. “I panicked,” she admitted. “It was coming at me; I wanted it as far from me as possible.”

She heard Neloth following her. “Well, next time, think before you act. While I had no trouble dealing with the two of them on my own, having some assistance would have wasted less time.”

Imogen stopped walking, Neloth almost bumping into her. She cocked her head towards him. “You know, I want to be insulted by that, but I’m starting to think that’s your way of asking for help.”

Neloth shrugged. “Think what you wish. I merely want to get this expedition into high gear. We’ve spent too much time traveling and battling and not enough time studying the domain.”

He gave her a little push, and Imogen started walking again. She smiled. “Thank you, by the way, for being on the offense.”

Neloth just hummed in response as the two of them continued their journey up to the top of the tower.


	19. Ephemeras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Three: Into the Depths  
> In which all hell breaks loose on Nirn, and Imogen feels the need to fix it.

Getting to the top of the tower was easier said than done. While Imogen was impressed by the overall layout of the citadel, Neloth mocked it, stating how inane and unnecessarily labyrinthic it was. 

Up, up, up the two of them would travel, but they would eventually reach a door that would lead to an outer room. They would have to traverse the outer room to the next level to return to the center ramp that led to the very top. Frustrated, Neloth suggested they just levitate to the top, but something in the atmosphere made it impossible for the two of them to levitate beyond two feet. Neloth noted this as interesting and deserving further research, but also stated that it was “completely idiotic.”

“It’s as if the ruler of this domain wants me to be angry with them,” he grumbled.

While they traveled, they ran into more Dremora, the Daedra that attacked them on the ramp. This time, Imogen was ready for them, using Destruction magic to keep the beasts at bay. But with each Dremora, Imogen felt herself getting weaker. At one point, Neloth even made her drink a magicka potion -she insisted she was fine and he insisted that she didn’t have a choice- but that only made her feel a little better. 

After about the fourth wave of Dremora, Imogen and Neloth found themselves at the very top of the center room. A tiny hole in the ceiling allowed the slender beam of light to enter. Neloth figured that whatever was inside must be very important.

“After all,” he said, studying the hole. “They wouldn’t have sent Dremora on us if it wasn’t.”

Imogen sat against the wall, sipping on another potion. It was the third potion Master Neloth made her drink. While he insisted he didn’t care about her deteriorating state, he kept prodding her to drink. Imogen wasn’t sure what was wrong with her. If it was exhaustion from using Magicka, the Magicka potions should have helped. If she was suffering from some sort of injury, then restoration spells should have helped. Her head was heavy as if her skull was shrinking around her brain. Her eyes felt heavy and dry. Still, she fought through it. She didn’t want to appear weak.

“What do you think is behind the door?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. 

Hands behind his back, Master Neloth glanced at her. He was quiet for a moment before humming in thought. “Your guess is as good as mine. It would depend on whose domain it is we’ve stumbled upon.”

Imogen opened her eyes and watched Neloth shift his weight from one foot to the other. He kept looking at her, and it took Imogen a few minutes to realize he was expecting her to respond.

“Well,” she started, stretching her legs in front of her. Their soreness surprised her, but she recalled just how much hiking they did. “We can eliminate some of the Princes. For instance, we spoke of how this is most likely not Apocrypha. And my mother often spoke of Sanguine and his many Pockets. I doubt this is one of them.”

Neloth cocked a brow but didn’t refute her. Instead, he nodded. “Yes, it is very unlikely. And while this place could be the stuff of nightmares for some, something tells me this isn’t Vaermina’s Quagmire either.”

This time Imogen nodded as she slowly got to her feet. As soon as she was standing, she wished she hadn’t, but she didn’t dare sit back down again. Part of her was afraid she would look pathetic to Master Neloth, and part of her was afraid she wouldn’t get up again. 

“Let’s see,” she half mumbled to herself. “Who else do we have? There’s...Molag Bal, Boethiah, Clavicus Vile…”

“Azura, Mephala, Malacath, Mehrunes Dagon, Sheogorath,” Neloth added, counting on his fingers. 

Imogen continued. “Peryite, Meridia, Nocturnal...Hircine...Namira…”

“And Jyggalag,” Neloth finished. “Though with the layout of this place, I doubt it is him.”

That one didn’t sound familiar to her, but Imogen didn’t question Neloth’s knowledge. Instead, she tried to recall anything she might have read about any of the Princes. The domain was harsh, cruel, and not too pretty. But many of the Princes were known for their apathy. 

“But maybe we shouldn’t think about the domain…”Imogen muttered. 

“What was that?” Neloth asked. 

She shook her head. “I was just thinking...I keep focusing on what this domain is like to figure out who it belongs to. But we’re missing something important: why is it open? Why would the Prince want to link the domain to Nirn and send out Daedra?”

Neloth shrugged. “Why does anyone send an army?”

“Molag Bal, Boethiah, or Mehrunes Dagon. I’m narrowing it down to those three.”

They decided there was no more time for speculation. In order to truly answer the question, they would have to enter the room. Imogen downed the rest of her potion, hoping its effects would work soon, and took a deep breath. 

They opened the door.

The first thing Imogen noticed was just how sweltering it was inside. While it wasn’t paradise throughout the rest of the plane, this room seemed to house a lot of heat. Toward the center of the room, the tiny beam of light ascended to a platform. Two ramps to either side of the room led to this platform. The humming they had heard throughout the tower seemed to be at its loudest in this room. 

“Whatever is on that platform must be very important,” Imogen surmised. 

Neloth hummed in agreement but frowned. “But if that’s so, why has it been so scarcely guarded? Only a few lowly Dremora fought against us, and there does not seem to be a soul in this particular room.”

Growing tense, Imogen took a furtive step forward, eyes scanning the room from side to side. Still, she could see no life save for the two of them.

It was obvious to her that this room was significant. Too many factors led her to her conclusion. Located in a central tower which had no easy way to enter, and at the very top of said tower no less, the Daedra had to be hiding something in this room. But Master Neloth brought up a point she could not ignore, a point that kept popping up during their entire trek up: They barely faced any opposition.

As they both took a few more steps into the center of the room, Imogen’s thoughts turned to Seggory and Morena. With barely any Daedra inside to fight, Imogen couldn’t help but fear what sort of army those two could be facing alone. A chill ran up her spine, immobilizing her for a moment. Her breath lodged itself in her throat. Her ears clogged, blocking out the noise of the room. She should have gone with them. There was no way the two of them could take on an entire army of Daedra, and if there were no Daedra inside the gate, the only reasonable place for them to be would be Nirn. Did Imogen just send her friends to their imminent deaths? She did. She let them return to fight an insurmountable force that could seemingly go on forever. After all, Daedra didn’t die. She knew that. Her mother taught her that. Daedra were not of Nirn and therefore could not die. They could come back. And they would come back. No Daedra likes to be defeated by a mortal. 

And why did Imogen allow them to walk to their deaths? So she could assist Neloth with his research. Here she was, helping an arrogant, austere wizard with a project that only benefitted himself. He didn’t care about stopping the calamity. At the end of the day, he only cared about himself and his research. 

And as these thoughts came trickling down, another one slammed into her gut. 

She was no better than Master Neloth. 

She abandoned her friends so she could pursue knowledge. 

She could talk about morals all she wanted, but nothing could save her from the truth. 

She was just as bad as Master Neloth.

Noticing his assistant was no longer following him, Neloth turned around. “What are you standing about for? We have work to do.”

Like a slap, Imogen bolted back to the world around her, her recent revelation still ringing in her ears. She wanted to scream at him, to blame him for her own faults, to cry out that the only reason she was still here and not with the others was him. 

But maybe her voice knew the truth, that she made her own decision, for nothing could come out except a strained puff of air. 

Hands on his hips, Neloth sighed and rolled his eyes. “You’re still on that, aren’t you,” he chided. “Do not think I cannot tell what is on your mind. You’re not a hard read at all. You had said it yourself, didn’t you? That the only way to effectively stop the Daedra is to close the gate? Or did you forget that under all that guilt you’re drowning yourself with?”

Again, Imogen tried to speak up, to defend herself. But nothing would come out. Her body felt rigid. Her face was frozen with a dumbfounded expression. 

Neloth took a few steps toward her, looking down at her through contemptuous eyes. “Hm? Have you nothing to say?” he asked, his voice vibrating. For a moment, Imogen swore he had two voice, though she didn’t know how. “You have nothing to defend yourself with? Typical. You always were a cowardly one anyway.”

A flash of red to her right caught her eyes. Imogen snapped her head towards it just in time to hear an all too familiar cackle.

“He’s right, Imy,” it said. “This is all your fault.” 

Mother, Imogen mouthed, but she could not get the word out. 

Her mother was here, smirking and censuring. Here, in Oblivion. Smiling, flashing her jagged teeth at her so-called daughter. 

“Your friends are dead, you know,” Emilia smiled. “I don’t think they even made it out of tower! I mean, what did you expect when you sent them off alone?”

“I agree,” Imogen snapped her head back to Neloth, who was nodding alongside her mother. “You were so adamant before about everyone sticking together, then suddenly you changed your mind and brushed them off.”

There was more to his words. Imogen could see him speaking, but she could not hear what else came out. 

“Shut up!” Her mother hissed at Neloth, but he did not pay her any mind. “Listen to me, my Imy. It is time. I’ve waited long enough, child, but I’m sure you can see it my way now, can’t you? The longer you live, the more chaotic the world seems to become. First me, then that lovely Dunmer girl, then that dashing soldier boy and blacksmith. Now? The rest of Nirn? Don’t you see? This gate is here because of you! You did this! 

“But it’s okay, Imy. Please don’t cry. We can fix this, you and I. Just come with me. Come with me. Cross over to the other side, and all of this will go away.”

Both Emilia and Neloth were right in front of her, engulfing her. She felt her breath hitch as Neloth raised a hand, his mouth saying something she could not hear. 

Whatever it was he said, it hit her like a slap in the face. It stung. 

Until Imogen realized her mother was gone. She could hear the humming from the tower again. There was just her and Neloth, who was looking at her like she was an insect in a jar. 

“You...you...you slapped me!” she finally cried out as she put a hand on her cheek. No wonder it stung. 

Neloth sighed. “Well, of course, I did. You were completely catatonic and deranged. I wasn’t sure if a slap was going to be enough. The alternative was a shock.”

“She was here!” Imogen interjected. “My mother, she was here! You can’t tell me you didn’t see her. You were talking with her. You can’t deny that!” Her voice shook with each word. 

Neloth took a step back, assessing the space around her. “But I can, and I will. Your mother was not here.”

“But you were-”

“-speaking to you,” Neloth refuted. “I told you earlier; when you were speaking with your mother during the night, it was only you, and you were speaking for the two of you. The same happened just now. You started speaking as if you were two people.”

Imogen couldn’t believe it. Neloth had to be wrong. Her mother was here. She seemed so real. 

Neloth cocked a brow. “Tell me, in all the times you mother has visited you, has she ever grabbed hold of you? Have you ever felt her?”

Had she? Imogen tried to recall, but she could not. Slowly, she shook her head.

“And Murihesa?” Neloth inquired. 

Again, Imogen shook her head, her expression blank. She knew where Master Neloth was going with this, but she didn’t want to believe it. He took her as insane. That she was just seeing things. But that was not something she could comprehend. He didn’t understand. He wasn’t the one seeing Emilia and Murihesa as clear as day. If he could only see them, he would know for a fact, just as Imogen knew for a fact, that they were real. 

But with no trace of her mother to be seen, Imogen found it difficult to believe herself. 

Absentmindedly, Imogen pressed a hand to her chest, slowly brushing it across her sternum. She brought her gaze to Neloth’s eyes and took deep breaths through her nose. 

“I am not mad,” she affirmed.

Neloth regarded her, not saying a word. He watched as she grounded herself, watched as her eyes tried to focus on him but kept glazing over. Had Sheogorath taken her for his own? Or was this merely the manifestations of stress the young girl has placed upon herself?

Either way, it didn’t matter to him. He turned away. “At any rate,” he started as he made his way toward one of the ramps. “This is not the time nor place to speak of this. There are more pressing matters, are there not?”

Instinctively, Imogen wanted to be insulted as he literally and metaphorically turned his back on her. But she knew he was right, and she hated that. Now that they had finally reached the top of the tower, it was time to see what was here. 

She took a deep breath before catching up to him at the ramp. Together, they hiked up the final slope to get to the very tip top, the highest they could go, to where the beam of light they had seen at the base of the tower was now resting. It shone brightly on a single red orb that sat on an altar. Black lines adorned the orb, appearing to be some sort of sigil, but Imogen had no idea what it meant. 

Still shaking from her mother’s visit, Imogen crouched to observe the orb at eye level. “What could it be?” she murmured.

Neloth bent over it, looking at it from an aerial perspective. “Looks to be a sigil of some sort. Perhaps a source of power for the tower? Or of something greater?”

There was a moment of silence, save for the humming that seemed to be coming from the orb now that they were next to it. Finally, Imogen looked up at him. “Should we...touch it?”

Neloth hmphed. “We shall do more than that,” he said as he took hold of the orb and ripped it from its altar. Recoiling, Imogen dug her fingers into Neloth’s arm. 

“What are you doing?! For all you know, that thing’s holding the domain together!”

As the words left her mouth, the building began to moan and shake. Neloth batted Imogen’s hands away before yanking her to her feet. They did their best to keep their footing, Imogen holding onto the altar for dear life. Finally, the quake subsided. The world was still once again. But something seemed off. Imogen could hear her own breathing, hear her heart beating against her chest. 

“The noise...it stopped,” she realized. 

But Neloth wasn’t listening. He rotated the orb in his hand, studying it every curve. Frowning in approval, he pocketed the orb before turning his attention back to the room. “Well, that was a waste. I thought there would be more to this tower.”

“Perhaps we should head back to Nirn? Back to the fort and see if Morena and Seggory are okay,” Her eyes were pleading with him. “We could determine our next move from there.”

“Hm, yes. I’ve grown too annoyed with this domain to study it further today,” he conceded. “I could really go for some tea.”

Despite the aches and pains, they made their way out of the tower. And although the trek was no downhill, they moved slowly and carefully, sure that something would happen since they took the orb. And Imogen was right about the sound. Nothing could be heard but the echoes of their shoes against the stone floors and their breathing. Even outside, once they reached it, seemed eerily quiet as they made their way back to the gate. Or where they remembered the gate being. 

There it stood in all its glory, the gate that brought them to Oblivion. Its pillars a shiny black that gleamed proudly. But something was missing. 

“Where’s the fire?” Imogen blanched. “Where’s the giant, eye thing?”

Neloth thrust his hand between the two pillars, but there seemed to be no portal there. He gave Imogen and odd look. “Well, you should be happy. It appears that the gate is now closed.”

“And it looks like I arrived at just the right time!” a voice called out from behind them. 

It was her mother’s visit all over again. Imogen could hardly breathe, and she felt like she needed to vomit. The only saving grace was Neloth turning around to face the voice, looking the figure up and down and asking “And who dares to sneak up on a Telvanni Wizard?”

Imogen dared to turn around, to face a terror she had almost forgotten about. To face a sharp smirk and cold eyes. 

The half-elf flashed her teeth to Neloth. “Aryen, Master Vampire. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Now if you would, step aside so I may feast on your pathetic fledgling in peace.”


	20. Spuriousness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Three: Into the Depths  
> In which all hell breaks loose on Nirn, and Imogen feels the need to fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yey I finally updated! I figured out the trick. I can't write on my computer anymore. I have to write it longhand and then transfer it to a computer. Hopefully this means I'll update more frequently. I don't know how many of you are actually reading this story, but thank you.

The situation flashed quickly through Imogen’s mind. There she stood, hand on her dagger, a lump in her throat, and eyes hazing over. To her right stood Master Neloth, arms akimbo, slightly confused but ever so interested. And in front of them, several feet away, stood Murihesa’s killer, the half-Dunmer Vampire Aeryn.

If Imogen had an ounce of fight left in her, she would have pounced. Her bared teeth would have been splashing at that Vampire’s flesh for what she did and what she put Imogen through. But there was nothing. Imogen barely had enough energy to tremble in fear. 

Aeryn must have sensed this. Of course she did. That was why she smiled so sinisterly and chuckled so loudly. “What’s wrong, little Imperial? Did the Daedra give you a run for your money?”

While she took a few steps towards Imogen, Neloth spoke up. “So you are a Vampire as well, eh?”

Aeryn spared him a glance, smiling, but still sauntering up to Imogen. “That I am. And as I said, you are not my prey. I’m only here for the girl. So if you stay out of my way, I won’t have to kill you.”

Neloth harrumphed. “As if you could.”

With the “formalities” out of the way, Aeryn lunged at Imogen, closing the gap between them. A little too late, Imogen stepped back, hoping to keep that distance, but she knew it was futile. In her condition, there was no escaping Aeryn. 

But that didn’t mean she was ready to die. 

Somehow, despite her frailty, Imogen took a blow to her face, opened palm and nails and all. It stung, but it encouraged Imogen to strike back. Aeryn’s teeth were barred, and Imogen mirrored the countenance. Snarls and hisses echoed off the rocks as the two danced in combat, swatting one another, scratching, snapping at each other like animals. Eventually, Aeryn pushed Imogen to the ground. Smirking, she pinned the Imperial down, but that didn’t stop Imogen from snarling. 

“Look at you,” Aeryn sneered. “Nothing more than a feral animal. You’re so young, and yet there’s a strength in you I can’t explain. I’ll be happy to take it.”

“Is that what this is about?” Imogen hissed. “Is that why you’re trying to kill me?”

Aeryn chuckled. “Of course! I feed off of other vampires. I always feel so invigorated afterward, like I’ve sucked the power and might right out of their veins. It’s been awhile since I’ve eaten one.”

“Interesting,” Neloth murmured from the sidelines but said nothing more. 

At this point, Imogen could tell Aeryn was just toying with her. She was pinned to the ground, easy pickings for the stronger, older vampire. Imogen pushed and strained, but Aeryn pushed back, smirking all the while. Imogen couldn’t budge her. 

A voice to Imogen’s left spoke up. “That’s why you killed me?” It sounded furious, and Imogen understood why. Murihesa had every reason to be angry at her. 

But when Imogen looked to her left, she saw Murihesa’s anger wasn’t aimed at her. It was directed at Aeryn. 

“You killed me so you could get stronger? Because you mistook me for this Imperial?” Murihesa’s spirit looked as livid as ever, her neck still leaking the strange black blood, her eyes still nothing but red water leaking down her face. But Imogen couldn’t help but feel relieved the anger was not for her. She felt tears well up in her eyes. 

“And how stupid could you be,” Murihesa continued. “To mistake a Dunmer for an Imperial? We look nothing alike!”

During this exchange, Aeryn had been watching Imogen with a curious look. She even got off the girl, now standing over her as if to get a full look at her. Aeryn glanced over at Neloth. “My, my, is the girl mad?”

“Mad?” Murihesa answered for Imogen. “Oh no, I am FURIOUS.”

For some reason, Neloth’s eyes widened as he watched Imogen sit up. Imogen watched as Murihesa got in Aeryn’s face, though the vampire continued to stare at Imogen.

“I’m furious because I’ve been stuck in this void of a hell, and why? Because some dumb as a rock vampire mistook me for an Imperial? Unbelievable! Honestly can’t tell if I’m more mad about that or about dying. But it’s no wonder you’re so dumb; a stupid half-breed like you probably couldn’t tell the difference between a sload and a cliff racer!”

The amusement vanished from Aeryn’s face. She now regarded Imogen with pure malice.

“You little-!” she shrieked as she lunged for Imogen again. But she hit the air like a wall. A ward blocked Imogen from her as Neloth appeared by her side. 

Aeryn hissed, “You said you wouldn’t interfere, wizard.”

Neloth shrugged as he knelt down and rested a hand on Imogen’s shoulder. “No, I didn’t,” he replied. And then a flash of light blinded Imogen for a moment, followed by shadows that murmured around her. Then light again that gave way to the sky, the blood-red sky of Oblivion. 

She felt dizzy as she looked around. Neloth was still beside her, but their location was different yet familiar. They were still in Oblivion, but now they were situated near a tower.

“Did...did you…?”

“Shadow magic,” Neloth answered, closing his eyes. “Very useful but very draining. I’ve brought us back to the Brooding Fortress. That should buy us some time.”

Imogen knew she should thank him, but instead, she asked, “You know shadow magic?”

Neloth opened his eyes. He looked a bit paler than usual but huffed anyway. “Of course! I’ve been studying Azra Nightwider’s work for years. Fascinating use of magic.”

As he stood up, she still didn’t thank him. For some reason, she felt as if he’d like it better if she hadn’t. She remembered the time she thanked him for assisting with her research: 

“Don’t thank someone for doing what they should.” Or something like that.

So she followed his advice.

Slowly, Imogen got herself to her knees and then even slower to her feet. She ached all over but only pressed a hand to her stomach, her hands cupping something through the material of her shirt. Neloth noted this right away and, without warning, thrust a hand into the shirt. Imogen yelped but Neloth ignored her as he pulled from under her shirt none other than the shard of the Tear’m. Imogen attempted to grab it back, but Neloth merely put a hand on her head to keep her in place.

“You had this on your person the entire time?” he asked, slightly incredulously. 

Imogen tried again to reach it, but Neloth held the shard too high for her. “I was afraid something would happen to it if I left it in the fort.” Imogen defended. “And how dare you put your hands on me like that!”

Neloth gazed into the shard’s murky waters, watching the ripples form. Then, quickly, he stuffed into the sack with their remaining potions. 

Imogen balked. “It’ll break!”

“It’ll be fine,” he countered, raising a brow at her. “As you now appear to be.”

Indeed, Imogen had to admit that while she still hurt from her beating, the fatigue she had felt the whole day was lifting off her shoulders. She was starting to feel human again, or as close to human as she could muster. 

Before she could speculate further, Neloth hummed at her. “I still do not fully believe in your theory about the hauntings, but I’m a bit more ready to accept that it is possible.” 

Despite her confusion as to how he jumped to this topic, Imogen was ecstatic. “Really? How come?”

“When you spoke to that vampire,” he replied. “Or rather I suppose you believed Murihesa to have been speaking to her, you sounded just like her. It was your voice, of course, but the words, the way you said them, and what you said, those were her.”

In a snap, Murihesa was there, again to Imogen’s left. “Of course it was me, you arrogant twit!”

Neloth gave Imogen a dry look. “Don’t push your luck.” 

Murihesa huffed and looked over at Imogen. While she still looked ghastly, Imogen noticed that there was less blood adorning her spiritual form. “Why are you the only one who can see me?”

“I’m...I’m not sure,” Imogen replied cautiously. There was something familiar with how Murihesa was interacting with her. “Are you still angry with me?”

“Of course I am!” the dark elf snapped. “All of this is still your fault!”

Without warning, Neloth slapped Imogen across the face. “Whether you’re possessed or just crazy, you both deserved that.” 

Hand on her cheek, Imogen was about to yell at him when something on his wrist caught her eye. It was dull but still had a sparkle to it. It was a necklace tied around his wrist like a bracelet, a single green gem dangling under his sleeve. Imogen swore she had seen that gem before, but she couldn’t place where or when. Before she could ask, she heard a soft gasp come from Murihesa. 

As Imogen turned toward her, Muri’s features seemed almost normal; there was still the blood around her neck just as was there when she died, but her eyes seemed clear, no longer pools of anger. She was gazing at Neloth in disbelief. 

“You do care,” she whispered, and Imogen felt tears gather in her eyes. 

Neloth gave Imogen a quizzical look. Her eyes were fixated on the stone now. He glanced down at it, looked back at her, then slowly turned his gaze to her left where Murihesa stood. 

He never told Imogen whether he saw Muri that time, but as the ghost vanished, Imogen liked to believe he did. 

~.~

By transporting them back to the tower, Neloth had bought Imogen some time to recover and get away from Aeryn. It also allowed them some time to find another way out of Oblivion. Imogen suggested Neloth use the Shadow Magic to get them out, but Neloth declared it impossible as there was no road from Nirn to Oblivion in which to even cast shadows. Imogen wasn’t quite sure if that was how the magic worked, but she let the explanation go. Even if she wanted further explanation of how the magic worked, she couldn’t get a word in edgewise. As they traveled, Neloth kept badgering Imogen for details about her and Aeryn. How long had Aeryn been a Vampire? Did feeding on another Vampire actually increase one’s power? And was it limited to only Vampires, or could a mortal like himself drink the blood and garner strength? None of these were questions Imogen could answer, and even if she could, she probably wouldn’t.

On and on and on they marched. The plane, which was morbidly beautiful to Imogen at first, was losing its charm. The sky never changed. Every locale they visited eerily mirrored the last. She couldn’t imagine living in such a world. And if they couldn’t find a way out, they would have to or perish. 

On and on and on and on they went. 

After trekking what felt like an hour, they stopped to rest on some rocks. If only they had a horse or a slit strider, or even just some water. Imogen sighed as she rubbed her feet, Neloth beside her, leaning his hands on his knees. She wondered if this was the first time in a while that Neloth had done so much physical labor. He rarely seemed to leave his lab when she stayed in Sadrith Mora. 

Tugging her shoes back on, Imogen got to her feet and stood atop the rock, trying to get a better view of their surroundings. Neloth watched her expectantly. The land before them sloped downwards, and in the valley, there seemed to be a long tower of sorts. 

“An odd place for a tower,” she muttered. “What can it see?”

With no other options, they decided to head there. 

The tower itself was rather small. In fact, the only reason Imogen called it a tower was since it looked identical to the towers they had seen before. This one was only two stories, and it wasn’t connected to anything else. 

Again, lack of options forced them to enter. 

The inside was identical to the Brooding Fortress. They were on the lower half, a spiked apparatus in the center and a gap in the ceiling above them. As if they had lived there all their lives, they knew what to do. The pulled the lever on the wall, jumped on the platform, and ascended. Just as before, the tower spiraled upwards, but only for a few feet. So up they went. 

On the upper platform rested a tiny cage, and within that cage was a disheveled, young elf, paler than even Imogen. The child could barely fit inside their prison, leaning their head against the bars, eyes closed and breath shallow. 

In an instant, Imogen was by the cage, examining the child.

“They’re breathing, at least,” she murmured. “But they look ill. The poor thing could have been locked up for days!”

“But why?” Neloth speculated from his place by the stairwell. “What use is a child to the Daedra?” 

Imogen was too busy with the lock to answer. With a quick flick of magic, the lock fell open on the ground. The noise was enough to rouse the child from their slumber. White, hazy eyes glanced at Imogen, unfocused and weary. 

“Don’t be afraid,” Imogen smiled, hiding her fangs. “We’ll get you out of here.”

The child watched as Imogen swung open the cage but made no response either verbally or physically. With the door open, Imogen gently placed her hands on the child and drew them out. They practically crawled on the ground, groaning at what had to be stiff limbs. Eventually, they stood up, giving Imogen a better view. The child only reached to Imogen's hips, ears pointed and streamlined against their face. Their clothing were practically rags, the once colorful fabrics now faded and torn. No shoes on their feet. Just a long-sleeved tunic tied around their waist with a belt. 

The child watched Imogen with cautious eyes and said nothing. 

Imogen knelt beside the child. “My name is Imogen,” she said, still smiling. She wanted to appear as harmless as possible. 

The child backed away when Imogen knelt down, still saying nothing. 

“It doesn’t understand you,” Neloth bellowed from the other side of the room. “It probably doesn’t speak Cyrodiilic.” 

Frowning, Imogen stood up as Neloth strode over to them. “Don’t call the child an ‘it’,” Imogen said.

He ignored her, looming over the child and spoke a language Imogen had not heard before. The child hesitated but eventually responded to Master Neloth in that same language, or at least Imogen had to assume was the same.

“Her name is Izra; she’s originally from Pyandonea but had just immigrated to the Summerset Isles when the gates opened,” Neloth paused, flashing his brows. “Talk about poor timing.”

Imogen didn’t comment on his tasteless remark. She was too focused on the child. “What language were you just speaking?”

“Pyandoean, of course,” he snorted. “It’s the language of the Maomer, which this child is.” 

Imogen cocked a brow. “And you know it?”

Neloth gave her a dry look. “Of course I do. I just spoke it. When I was younger, I spent a few years on the island to study sea serpents. They frequent Pyandonea.”

Suddenly, the mental image of a younger Neloth popped into Imogen’s mind. She had to admit that he probably didn’t look half bad, but she couldn’t imagine him with his trademark annoyed expression. But that wasn’t important at the moment. They still needed to find a way out of this blasted domain.

“Can you ask her if she remembers how she got here? Like if she could recall the way out?” Imogen realized she was asking a lot of the child, but she was desperate. With Aeryn chasing after her in Oblivion and her friends possibly fighting hordes of Daedra back on Nirn, Imogen had a lot of motivation to find a way out.

Neloth gave her a look that said Imogen was putting too much faith into a small child, but he still translated the message. Izra backed away again, keeping quiet.

Stifling an fretful groan, Imogen softened her expression and knelt beside the child once more. She had to get the child to comply. “Please, we only want to help,” she pleaded softly. She knew the child wouldn’t understand the words, but Imogen hoped she’d pick up on the tone.

Izra looked at Imogen as she muttered her response. Neloth had to lean in to hear her.

“She said she doesn’t know,” Neloth translated. “But she remembers where another prisoner tower is.”

Imogen stood up. “That might help. Perhaps there’ll be more people. Someone’s bound to know a way out.”

Neloth stroked his chin. “Yes, and I can’t imagine the Daedra would drag prisoners too far into the realm. They might be near a gate,” he paused and frowned. “Though I still don’t understand why the Daedra would take prisoners in the first place. It’s not like they’re known to negotiate.”

Sighing, Imogen shrugged. “At this point, I don’t think either of us is at liberty to make assumptions about the Daedra. This whole plane has been unpredictable.”

Neloth harrumphed, not liking being told he didn’t know something, or at least that’s how Imogen took it. She didn’t like it either. Though exploring the unknown was something researchers liked to do, Imogen didn’t like being the pawn in this experiment. She was starting to feel worse than the Vampire trials!

She held a hand out for the young elf, but Izra did not take it, gripping the hem of her torn tunic tightly. Imogen forced the smile back on her face. “Master Neloth and I,” she said, pointing to herself and him, “Are going to find a way out of here,” she explained by pointing towards the tower’s exit. “You,” she continued, pointing at Izra. “Can come with us,” she finished, gesturing to herself and Neloth again. 

Neloth didn’t bother to translate, as the little girl began to furiously shake her head. Imogen frowned and was about to object, but Neloth grabbed ahold of her arm and dragged her towards the ramp.

“You tried,” he said as she started protesting about leaving Izra behind. He then cast a comment to Izra in Pyandonean as they descended the ramp.

Once they were outside, Imogen tugged her arm free and smacked him. “Why did you do that? We can’t just leave her on her own!”

Rolling his eyes, Neloth started walking away. “Give it a few minutes,” was all he said. 

Huffing, Imogen stomped after him. “And just what do you mean by that?” 

But instead of responding, Neloth just gestured his head behind them. Turning around, Imogen saw that, sure enough, Izra was following them at a distance. She stopped once Imogen had spotted her. 

“What did you say to her?” Imogen inquired as she turned back to him.

He smirked. “‘There might be water where we’re going.’”


End file.
